"LOVE
tickles my throat, captures my fancy and grabs me happy
by the horns, by the hope, by the biddilywiddilywoo don't you?
know the way.
to sesame street?
where the air is sweet?
and the grass is high.
i'm going to take you there to where we can't stop the beat the rhythm
the you the me i'm going to take you there where life is pure where innoncence
exists as a standard as a way of being as a you as a me as a we we are we
we are one we are you we are me we are we we we we are we are together in this
now without a rope, without a pulley, without a safety net carefully lowering us back down
into the abyss, into the cavernous darkness, into the place where I forget and I become
lost, wandering, alone, confused, lonely, separated, isolated, waiting, needing,
lost so lost.
Waiting, searching, for you, for me. For within, is without and without me, I know not.
Without you, I stumble and stoop, to the grave, to the ground, to my knees,
crawling like a baby, learning how to walk once more, learning how to sing
this song that is in my heart, that begs a release, an outlet, a letting go of all that once was,
and an embrace of all that could be. A wanting, a willing, a waiting, you, me, a waiting, our
union, our return to the one great moment, this here and now, this tribal modernism,
this exact tale of how we came to be in a time when all was lost, when hope was gone,
and madness rife, when illness almost swallowed us whole in its great captivity and we refrained,
we held back, we resisted the suffocating call, the deafening pitch, the hazy fog it lifts
unveiling a mystery, the magic foretold the alchemy a simple process of looking at all of the shit
all of the you and all of the me that just doesn't work, that just isn't is, that just won't do and willing a way, wishing a well us well now in this exact moment when the dust settles and the mist clears
the dew like a crystal clear looking glass rises taking our collective we
our uplifting he and our rising she
and screams and shouts,
"This Is It."" ---chc
"COMMUNICATION IS THE BEST LUBRICATION" --a.
Notes from a twenty-second street house on the twenty-second day of July.
When we gathered ~ always, gathering...
