Blood Silence Sans Fear…

S_219Search these tucked in canisters somewhere along river fields and beyond sand edges—the middle world awaits and the like to know places us inside the possibility of kingdoms of the not knowing and required by those anyone or anywhere folks not once or twice or at all.

This is an Eden of places—placed just outside reaching flesh but well know by blood and touches and slight motions of hummingbird wings quick in hovering and sweet of tastes known now or forgotten later today.

Icons of no runes—save the rock of ages ago when they world ran along city edges and along this side of middling madness without the anger or the rule of pulls and pushes and without water’s wilt or gain.

Whispers fill the air as darkness replaces daylight and trenches along these well placed places of sight and sound mean little without the branches of consciousness or the balance between the here or not hearing those passing in the light or without the lathing of the gatherers.

They arrive in bunches of machined machines together in minds of same or alternates where we twirl the whirl and call the laugh or two as boxes open and away we—they separate into some things or less or the loneliness of crowd bridges or twin screw moments of those spaces of time without seconds.

And yes robots—we, search blood and find taste good in those mingle – tingled moments when touch and amazing touch relishes those not imagined sources of unnecessary wariness and one becomes another and brief the flashes together spread the separate into singularity no more than once…

Movements by wind across this liquid—sunlight and thick wave dance lights and slivers of silver and gold. Followers watch for scraps or bits to fall toward their reach either diving for something new or rocking gently on this clear sea of warming suns and moonlight’s dance of song and silence.

And! Beautiful you are…

Beginning Rights-Writes-Ending…

51Plague begins and ends as people-folks end and begin…Called! Robot death or death of substrate or the walkers that carry Eternal Spirits as Spirit passes a world or ten or a thousand places across Life’s Universe. Warmed to the form of you and me and the us and them of this here and this now.

And! Time is damned except by those tellers of time and those singers of timed songs. When futures’ laugh…Moments span the days of does not matter minutes and dances twirling into relief.

Once sweet Tsaritsa Alexandra and her babies lost life and gained the weight of bullets and steel knives somewhere before a reason and the rhythm of master-slave-king-queen-poverty-rich and lyrical poor, changed the balance of futures’ past tomorrows.

Brief times—when futures’ laugh as past smiles and memories wail softly into the death of darkness and of light. Cults rarely live except inside mind-spin-doubt-fear and folly.

Cellars split and life’s reformation happens then in now and once in Ekaterinburg—as secreted consecration both; cursed and blessed folk-thoughts people-deep as the Urals remained where mountains live and humanity touched quality-beauty-sense and balanced while steeped in pretense and folly and song.

Daughters and knives must never mix and women must never fall in battle—only fall-in-love. Let these things be written by the singer of songs and the writers of poetry and into the heart of life…

We dance Universe…you and I—hand-to-hand-shoulder-touched-lips-to-eyes and never tears. Eternal Spirits cannot cry and never Universes’ end and we are Spirit and Spirits never die. Robot once then again and again and…

Angels fly in starship to scout where next to stop-land-wait-end-and begin again-begin. In star-ships the folds of space shortens the distance between star-light and star-bright and the day of night.

In starship, galaxy edge and galaxy center matters only to the standing one at waters’ edge on planet-fall. Small is a matter of size and nothing less than sky-lights and heaven’s length.

Animals are the earth and inside the wind they are large and strong and brave as fur coats ruffle and scents bring reality to the real self and imagination. I am man and you are woman and we are both not interchangeable.

But Love! Is the spirit of heart and soul—does not require name or title or reason or permission or through the grace of…? No! Things called government nor religious-named or senate or congress or court or king or country has right or reason to legislate or forbid the strength of Love between anyone…Oh! Hell no.

Stop the builders of weapons! Too late? For sword grow as shield grows as bomb-to-drone-to- the shrieks of madness drown to silence the gentle swish and swoon of love and touch and care and taste and the sweetness of dove’s morning cry and the living sound of baby cries and gurgles and…

Instead— let us again dance across these universes while we wish to dance. Let us then spirit-dance—when the flesh of non-interchangeability sheds substances and gains sustenance. Life spark-sparkles forever; then lends light to darkness knowing this is good-sweet.

We are Children of the same Verses of these Universes—We have the Right to be Everywhere…

And! Beautiful you are…