Luna Plină, Ilumina

Oscillating along Heroilor, Boulevard of Heroes, beneath the light of apex Luna. I am clad scant yet feel no cold, for the mighty furnace behind my ribs and flesh burns with a mighty cadence.

~ Woes turn to wonder when I think of Thee

Honored to steward thy mystery ~

A patina-stricken statue of a Dacian wolf feeding human children from deeply-sagging titties. Guys in packs outside the bars, “hey bros look, she sits quite pretty!”

Balance beams are everywhere in this city, quadrangular bike racks and stoic traffic-herding posts create a jagged obstacle course for me to test mighty vessel’s limits. I sense great opportunity on the horizon, visions of fates that may yet be.

~ Pasts tortured and troubled

You must hear the call

Gold & gallon may rise and fall

But a well tended garden

Will always stand tall ~

Choose now between your least-favorite tv series, video game, or fickle friend that you still make time for, and the benevolent plants that call for your pouring palms. When in doubt, seek the astral shadows within. Whispers scream in silence. Virtue emanates.

Amen.

Radiate, penetrate, dark desires evaporate. If finances now stagnate, your times are getting desperate.

Errante™ bolts of fear and desire fly across the battlefield as glances and Glimmer transmit data packets of projected perceptions. Truly, the self that does not know Self will never find peace like mine.

[Corollary: we call someone self-ish when they act singularly, for -ish it is, they do not -quite yet- know that true Self is eternally all]

My peace does not depend on yours, yet strive to help you all the same. Tell me, does a single curse still float within that poor membrane? Then pour your pierces into me, I burn them with my alchemy. Ancient furnace churn thy hate, turn glance to gift at once, elate!

I raise my glass to the finest ass I’ve seen this week, does this make me strong or meek?

Sometimes my alchemy won’t burn quite fast enough to disguise my carnal past, when heat gets haute how can soul outlast?

If I scorn an avatar by misperception, be this woe or self-deception?

Her back popped seven times total. Five the first time, two the second. I still feel her lilting laughter tattooed upon my heart, a gift from Gods in realm apart.

Below, your fickle flaws and fabled fears fly deep within my desert ears, sending still sands adrift into the calid winds of my sunbleached heart.

See no more standards unmet.

humble souls with forged debt.

Paid long ago, by great Prophet ♱

Spirit first, flesh second…

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..

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Did you forget?