Stuff Stuffing

I don't know what to do or say anymore. Except chuckle, be as loving as I can, Rest, be grateful, try to help.

Why has all the juice gone out of these words at the moment I am experiencing the deepest peace and joy ever?

What is there to say about THIS, about WHAT IS?

Maybe some more ecstatic langugage, flow-etry of sorts: a different tact.

A Bird Sung in this Space,
As a Cruise Ship Liner floated by,
Along the Hudson River of my MIND

No birds, no ships, no captains, wings,
No birdwatcher, no boat observer,
Sounds only
Images flashing

Like perspiration on the skin,
From whence has it come,
And to where does it go?

Unknown. A mere glistening moment,
Not perspiration
But perspiratio-genesis,
What an awful word
For a God-awful-Wonderful phenomena

Evaporated before conceptualized.

A smile, a laugh but no joke.

Heart Essence pouring out in all directions,
Wounded, open, crucified, resurrected.
Ascended, even at moments
Pentecostal
In its downward thrust of Radiant Fire.

Burning the skin black, like Our Lady.
------

Oh well, not very good, I guess. That's just fine. I'm not much the poet, artist, writer. Not the outdoorsmen, the life of the party, the man in the know, a primal force, an urban denizen, or much else really.

A dude. With nothing to say, nothing to be. Nothing himself ultimately. Just Wakeful. Free.