Wrestle Me You Finite Spark

Merging Events from your Past

In my recorded diary, Duplications react to preserve their integrity – these tapes won't see me through a whole year.          After each season there's reason to archive;          posting each note as individual lives.          In winter, I archive my diary library. Files intact will display contents. Copies react, creating chemical burns.          If an item merged into a note to tell you          of something that happened a few months ago,          That chocolate cake'd prob'ly slide around.                   Dip this stick in paste post-haste!                   and smear that stuff on-to that tape. The paste's my remedy for fame: these tapes can't ever be erased. In spring, I'll archive that shit away – sometimes I love & sometimes I hate.          Reality refuses to be shut at the gate.          These tapes'll record themselves on the way.          Take this torch and melt all those tapes. Pop-in-cassettes make me not have to wait. But speed's an invoice for letting me rest.          If an item merged into a note to tell you          that you've been merging events from your past...          (It took me some time to see how I'd react.)                   Spark that torch to touch this whole bunch!                   and liquify mem'ries of'archiving in love. The torch is my remedy for fame: these tapes can't ever be replaced.

Reaching Far's an Easy Feeling

I'll give and take from you – you Giver and Taker.                 Your form will shape me up                 You kindly give to me these dreams                 I can be such a giver                 I can give or shape it up Mysteries will shroud yourself; making it comfortable to be with You.  You can be my guest.                 Now we've seven hours left.                 Now I'm so 'up-and-done'. Mysteries leave nothing left, with clouds like boulders overhead, You can be my guest,                 kindly shaping me right up –                 I would be set in your love.                 Your form will shape me up:                                 How many days to Life, God?                                 (it's funny how concerns wake us                                 when days to Life'll overtake.) You turn your one-step-method in ten for us.                 Wellness becomes inherent –                 I can't help but be so well!                 I can be well-off, indeed, or                 I can give or shape it up Like a trickling stream, giving; making reaching far an easy feeling.  You can be my guest.                 Ease-of-use is pretty sleazy.                 Can it all to wrap it up. Trickling streams are so appealing, the constant flow is just like You.  You can be my guest,                 fill me up in bucketous fun –                 I will be filled with Jesus' love.                 Your form will shape me up:                                 Righteousness is bothersome.                                 (don't I know that righteousness                                 is held in Truth and Love?)

Breathless Chord

Your mysteries they swallow me whole – Surf the silence down the throat. I cut the curves and hug my board. Each muffled breath a soundless crash. It's darkness I have never known – a wet path undulating road. I hope and pray to know the half of striking one breathless, still, a chord. Concentrate on me when you swallow– articulate your neck to help me down. I'm trying, surfing the neck to help myself. In darkness I can't find my way. But this is not the same. My life, now, is in your name as I know I'm on your path. I'm desperate and sinking. I'm thinking and thrashing wondering when I'll reach your heart. If that's where I'm headed.

Wrestle Me You Finite Spark

There's several ways to catch me up: Up to Golden Altars Run Growth won't come by catching up – the cultivation overcomes.         A life in time won't grow at all, it's time and life that passes by. Growth won't come by catching up. It's a big event in history; to push like waves an accident; that cultivates a rushing wave of foolish stuff. There's several ways to keep in touch: Loving arms do lift me up Wrestle me down into the dark - wrestle me you finite spark.         Incidental wrestling calls for consequential things that come. Wrestle me down into the dark. I've got arms to fight the dark; these hands attached to other arms; they've got sparks that cause alarm!

I'll Have Forgotten all my Power

I'm splaying myself out:          These sinewed bones'll have to wait          for comfort zones & feelings'f home.          I'm spreading myself thin and shoving my neck out          in hopes of heading towards-within.          This opening of doors will encourage movement towards my heart.          I'm horizontal on the outside deck – body soaking up foul weather,          lying, awaiting pain from deconstruction-by-meditation. I'm splaying myself out:          Like an electrician, over a year, disarms a bomb.          He prepares his specimen atop a workbench –          Unable to reason where he went wrong.  Unable to "pray-tell why we..."          Unable to re-engage due to underestimation.          If it takes a year to encourage movement towards my heart.          I plan to re-display.          I plan to re-engage. I'm splaying myself out:          In the interest of learning what it's all about.          In order to know where these tendons belong –          Particles move, swapping places, one with another.          Fatty tissue and muscles are a walk in the park.          A simple nap with limbs strewn about, simplification –          a simple overexemplification of Minimalism.          A simple memory of life in the womb:          Before this hour's passed I'll have forgotten all my power.