120702 17:40 sole groaning

The idea of making love with a man not curious to me but the ideal touch, any kind, is.

Same some time some from at rest I arise not refreshed timed out so much as more curious than before I entered this that what is it is. . . .What must it be to be like even a tincture of the wholeness holiness of God enshrouding

OM

THE ALL

the person not thing of my beloved little ginormous impish sender of love notes

Like candy kisses they are. Wrapped in aluminum foil U2 spies maybe. Souring drones

Like the Zen Masters, Confucius, Buddha alone covered with white blooms falling I think so often entering now covering Who of Rumi knew knowing told more about God than maybe I'll ever in life know and the flowing of God is asexual to the extent that my metaphors, similes, visions and omens. . . .portend The whatever many words crosscurrent one-by-one square dance to describe this ecstasy within enfolded by love and joy the congress of letters propagating becoming two­-by—two the flood and ark strophic circling whirling clinging attraction stanza fusion lust consummated in inflexion a strophe theatrics theater of worship dance forward and backward the beginning of the play which for then and now was worship adored in a different way.

weep more I laughing enough no to drown this little boy turn saggy old man dancing adoring those who see saw enough to die glorious before the dying was done being with God without dying . . . . last time I saw Jesus He in turning told me . . . .”You're on your own” & I wept driving towards Rhode Island where my beloved lay moldering in a Styrofoam coffin beneath a head stone buried flat in a donated plot this boy I see now glorious dancing in trees the wind still and silent swaying back & forth

notes on the growing of a soul groaning in birth

here on earth seen from afar populated more each minute grown turned growl dripping venom happy 4^th can you see hear touch me now? Weeping and dancing seeing!

Dervish Skirt Twirling

© 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved

LOVE IS THE MASTER

Love is the One who masters all things;

I am mastered totally by Love.

By my passion for love for Love

I have ground sweet as sugar.

O furious Wind, I am only a straw before you:

How could I know where I will be blown next?

Whoever claims to have made a pact with

Destiny

Reveals himself a liar and a fool;

What is any of us but a staw in a storm?

How could anyone make a pact with a

hurricane?

God is working everywhere his massive
  Resurrection;
How can we pretend to act on our own?
In the hand of Love I am like a cat in a sack;
Sometimes Love hoists me into air,
Sometimes Love flings me to the ground.
Love swings me round and round His head;
I have no peace, in this world or any other.
The Lovers of God have fallen in a furious river;
The have surrendered themselves to Love's 
   commands.
Like mill wheels they turn, day and night, day
   night.
Constantly turning and turning, and crying out. --Rumi

(translated by Andrew Harvey)

Shambhala, Boston & London  www.bn.com/
       . . . no profit to me not prophet neither 

120702 02:09 po boy © 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved

I been screwed and blued 'n White & Read Tatooed I'm jusss'a Po boy from Greenwich Inc. CT of the Usss'a R us of Fuck'n A Inc. & I'm the heart of darkness just like U MoFo converted swampted Dysfunctional Credit profited indentured 4ever once lost I'm the meek come to inherit this pretty blue nest you dispoiled so bend over now I got your back &'n me Uppa you ta flap yhaa jaw side now Unca Bob double fisting U&in charge now.

Once had the righteous stuff now all I got is the flag desecrated going from my sole's a up my thighs over my Bald Eagle predator beady unblinking eyes a glarr'en'ing attcha Oh billy billy Buckley o billy boyo, I mean OH BILLY BOY! Wher'e you now OH BILLY BOY! when we need you'all to help get Us? Ju'sta us Meek po white boys no chicken pot pie peed in to eat us alive insideout white trash no teeth to eat with now billy boy yho white boy i'ma talk'n te yee MO FO OFU Ur MOMA 2 in d' eyes leaping “Atlas Shrugged” Ayan Rand's silly white ass Godspelled (good news for you but bad news for the rest of us) bitch faux goddess imperious a O

120702 05:45

The above is inspired by Ken Nordine's Word Jazz and an endless source of inspiration coupled with my sense of humor &/or merely loving to see words/letters/vacant spaces/sight gags having congress­--pun intended­--I like to pop egos like pimples. . . . it's okay I do wash my hands and I'm very gentle.

In my midnight rambles I discovered the nexus of my grief; I cannot influence anyone to actually love and forgive themselves or me, with sincerity.

Such unconditional love is what I sense Jesus was and remains. Add to which I am convicted that He has come again many times over; resurrected in the bodies, lives and souls of others. Other wisdom traditions same/same synonymous or equivalent different faces , clothes, customs, language SAME GENIUS OF origin.

120702 08:14

. . . the origin of my nexus was and will, never, ever, be again, that I could not enter the sanctuary and refuge of creativity/The Heavenly Home of The Creator without fear that should I be interrupted I might as easily destroy the interrupter as attend their need to interrupt me for any reason including death theirs or mine.

. . . albeit salaciously reverent: "There is a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will." --willie billy shakes