The hustlers network

I’m sitting on the dock of the bay beside the widest ocean,

too many solid prayers to put in this plastic web.

The translation of the true language can’t be handled yet,
not by this hustlers network.
I’m just giving with chaotic precision

the mystic measures from a source,

mellow grounded in the dept.

The dept you are crawling in right here right now,
some call it Love.

The hard way

I have a tantrum,
bashing the dealers
of global interpretation
out of the temple of Love.

Seven years of sorrow
inside my ecstatic joy
of awareness.

I’ve seen enough darkness
to expect a new dawn
again and again,
my future was made
deep within the first moment,
the infinite measures are One.

Love is playing out loud
everything is made of it,
the hard way is to know
who you are,
my Love.

Drunk on sugar mountain

Cutting sugarcane
in the heat,
the fragile dust, hungry,
so thirsty for life
the wounds infected
captured in the cruel corporate chains
of the puppet players of every president.

Uncertain,
hoping
some dark eagles
will fly on Friday.

Just to get drunk
on sugar mountain again,
only the cheapest wine
to still the hunting pain.

Printing silver coins on shining walls,

the raw material is stolen from the elemental

source.

Egghead twisted in the wires

Realization to open
….windows.
The one that is searching
has to be found.

No one in this universe
ever found an Ego,
although the limitation
is all around.

Who stole those wonderful
ice mountains last week ?

And it stoned me

Tearing out my eyes
breathing on your shoulder
after a blowout
diversity in stones
a rusty knife in the back of an angel
betrayal of life.
Are you surprised when I settle the score?
Crying on the burial mound
with the grail in my bleeding hands.
The weight of your gold became too heavy
to make another step.
I was called naked in the rain.