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Rusty Satellites

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insects [Apr. 12th, 2008|12:08 pm]
Rusty Satellites

Spring comes on strong in its early honeymoon fertility, love blossoming from sunken navals, the yellow and black bumblers swarming each other and extending mad feeler props and nerve endings.  A buzzing scream comes from the bush, dies out in sighing acceptance--love can be over-eager, I know.  It obliterates the past, what was that old coldness?   Everyone is yelling in cabin, no chance for homely silent solitude--it'd almost be easier in the city!  It's less a  matter of inconsideration--consideration just becomes more important when thrown together (no coming of needed adjustment--but only third day of course).  Different historical outcomes: Russia cramped communes of reluctant love, Chinese concentration camps--the Chinamen know their history, this alone could make them the most powerful nation, God willing. 

The single bee in front of my feet flies like a beautiful Japanese gal in a kimono, hovering there, mastering the subtlety and grace of stillness in action of a side-propelled helicopter, bobbing up and down like a Jewish saint, naming some incantation against the holy walls.

Even after pounding waterfall meditation, where I thought The road to Heaven is long--you can't drive to heaven, you have to walk--Even then (why oh why) I swatted at the gentle fly, coming to the chilling conclusion that I was right.  I let them walk o'er my face in shameless penance. 


Leaving in full green and violet bloom, knew it'd happen.  Kept thinking of those words (when I get drunk I GET)  Vodka only--dragged to depths of Russian root suffering.  Cloud shadows cover hills on quiet ride home. 
                Just wanna get there, talk to Molly, think and drink coffee on familiar couches

Be as calm as water--Accept the path of least resistance.