my priority

I dont need electricity to ignite the seemingly bright light eminating from
within and without me and I play my part in making it privade everything daily.
Because see,
I dont need electricity to ignite the seemingly bright light eminating from
within and without me and I play my part in making it privade everything daily.
When I feel the weight of the world on me,
as I sit in the cradle of the greek order eaten moon,
the eclipse tips and I am piched forward towards this blackness which lacks a
substance.
Confront this forth compulsion towards expulsion from feeling I’m reeling
careening into freedom of inbreeving a complete loss of believing.
Retriving my trajectory.
Thats my priority.
And then,
it’s all just a freefall through night as I grab for starlight that slips
through my fingers but lingers in streaks on my skin.
Tears on my cheeks and my chin.
Because starlight can burn when the moon turns her back.
Because starlight can crackle like ice when the sun shines highest twice this
century.
But ask yourself:
What is a century?
Only an arbitrary measurement.
So…
I decide to use the night sky as my guide.
The stars and planets are my abbicus and the
moon and sun are my zero and one but both fluid and interchanging Rearanging
constantly.
The kaliedescopic clock I follow doesn’t go tick-tick-tick,
or talk about yesterday, now, or tomorrow and I borrow my words from the sky.
Because ask yourself:
What is S-K-Y?
Only arbitrary lettering.
Just symboligy.
So…
I decide to use the galaxy as my dictionary
I don’t flip through pages I backflip to ursa major,
or I thumb through Jupiter and Pluto to find the terminology to make my meaning.
See,
I don’t need things like vowels and consonants to make my sentences make sense.
And guess what I think about sensuality.
Because ask yourself:
What is your idea of beauty?
Only arbitrary.
So…
I decide to use the cosmology as my cosmotology.
I bathe in soul saving meteor showers for hours and hours on end.
And then I do it all the fuck over again.
And then
I apply the Milkyway to my flesh
and I adore my breasts with saturns moon rings.
And I make my eyes sparkle with:
comets and quasars and stars and things.
And my lips
Taste of burning beams of honey sun.
And that kind of heat can’t be bought with money or one.
It’s just something I worked out empirically.
That you can choose your own reality.
I’ve been reading up on my quantum physics and the trick is,
Reality
comes in infintesimally thin slices
so my advice is choose your piece carefully.
Because…
You dont need electricity to ignite the seemingly bright light eminating from
within and without you and everything you see.
And you can play your part in making it prevade everything daily.
Just ask yourself:
What’s your priority really?