Extremely insistent ideas of triangular supermotions.
Plastic solid god-like brass dances gold and firm, before,
Around.
Specific ideas and concepts sprawl themselves in motivation.
I process a million perspectives and abstract sub-ideas instantly.
This redefining scares some.
This redefining defines me.
Gridlocked glued together,
Particles,
Large, bold, burly atoms,
Stick stubbornly into nets, into crawls and walls,
Into concepts, turned material,
The matter, pure thought.
Impossible to explain.
Beautiful to express.
Red, Green,
Neon shining essences of these,
Alive with energy,
Pregnant with intention,
Pressing sternly forward,
Around.
Slipping roots, ropes rubbing, slipping.
Intense explosions of neural astonishment,
Feed,
As food.
Feed my being,
Gains energy,
Power,
Manifestation.
Author notes
Last stanza is supposed to be that way. As is the use of slipping X2
Comments
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Wow, excellent
This poem confirms to me that there still are good poets out there. Poets with different ideas and perceptions. Some just don't put themselves out there to experience all life has to offer them. One person's reality is a distortion to another. So I leave with this. What exactly is reality? And if it's wrong to manipulate our energies, then why do the "rightious" make it a point to manipulate the minds of as many as they can seek?
Sorry, useless rambling. Anyway, good poem. -
the title says it all, euphoric birth... love it!
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