You are infinite layers of dreams ever fountaining, I know. Breaks me a hundred times, I celebrate the beauty in your fleeting illusion.
From your heart and onto your heart, everyone molts a million times.
The lavish theatre of their floret of sufferings, swirling with the one flower head
Mother, white conch,
if there is no one around,
I am the medicine, your milk welling from the navel of the world.
Both Ends of the Knife
It’s you again
Seen you yesterday and the day before,
now I’m on the other side of the knife.
from this angle the old blade pulled out from my chest by an inch,
and I try to stab her shallower than I received from you by two inches.
Three times around,
I think that’d eventually melt the blade.
Everybody with infinite chances,
in externalizing their toxin
into the carousel of turning tables,
the world evolves,
as you gush into the river of suffering
for five million years,
the legendary bird moving a mountain with its beak,
to the ocean and back,
you dip your blade in the river of suffering,
and see the karma decay from tide to ripple,
the mountain flattened, ocean filled,
you are gone,
in the first beam of the sun.
The black and white push and pull,
until I don’t hear that metal-scratching sound, see the rust of erosion,
I marry my dark ocean, subconscious mind.
Mother, to tell you the truth, I was the beauty, and the beast, the swordsman and poet.
Solve et Coagula
I see you everywhere,
From circle to circle, tribe to tribe.
I see glass bubble form, when you say you are anything,
I see glass bubble crack, when you say you are anything,
do we still dare to say,
what sound comes out of it?
I see you burnt into ashes
visitors pester your tomb,
and let another tornado blow them clean again,
I see fire rises from your ash.
Kind of a solid fluid spirit this time,
nothing kills a spirit.
The void was given a bronze shell,
temple bell echos the sound of the sun in dawn and dust;
A song from heaven was given a vocal chord,
You sing here to this world.
Mar. 02. 2023