2013 February
A New Years POME
The Fuzzy Keepers of your Eternally Blooming Flower Chamber (or A New Years Resolution)
This is the year for the furry friends to take over.
A year for grievences to give way to heavenly carresing infidels
who’s only task is to infuriate wanton attackers into sponateously
combusting funeral pyres.
a year for the keepers of lost secrets to reveal themselves.
for not turning your back on the brimstone and fire that breathes
hot dragons breath up your backside, hollowing out the
cluttered corridors that have been suffocating the white
warriors of yessness.
a year to take the catapult out of the magic bag and load it
with affirmative salutations whith which you lovingly fire at
all of those self reflecting mutations who in years passed
you referred to as enemies.
This is the year to consolidate
like never before!
centuries into decades
into years
into months
into weeks
into days
into hours
into minutes
into right freeking here, right now.
into yod hey vav hey
if i need it
i can get it.
but not if i leave this throne of listening
this magic space vessel of her eternal remembrance.
This is the year for treating each moment
as the epic battle that it truly is.
This is the year for the fuzzy keepers of your eternally
blooming flower chamber to start purring, and max
keys grapefruit juice to start pouring down hungry throats.
this is the day for the reopening of fireside rooms,
slush puppies, bunk beds, table top dancing, brainwash busting,
down to earth, star cluster, roots leaves and branches,
jenga brick stacking, almond butter, pre and post purposing,
sea lions, hammerheads, narwhals, megaladons, window
crysal rainbow makers, taking rest, making soup, shuffling decks,
downsizing, underwriting, deep sea diving, bookstore saving,
children book reading, shower singing, art making, relay race
with smiling shiny faces, and real bright eyed eye gazing
the year for words to take flight in the new ball courts of your
frontal lobes. a time never before known, where you fall to your
knees, put your father who art in heaven to the floor and
give thanks, for this sweet, sublte and profoundly epic braodcast
which everyone seems to refer to as
your life.