Post by goldenmyst on May 20, 2023 19:05:57 GMT -6
Further Adventures of a Train Traveler
Yang: “May I have the seat next to you
on the cosmic train?
You look like a sane person
and I could use some sane conversation
in my state of mystic madness.
I pray to the cosmic Godhead
for your safe and happy passage
through time and space, all the time.
I wish you bountiful orgasmic bliss
and sensual abandon
and transcendent states of total liberation
from the Karmic wheel.”
Yin: “My pup has an allergy to fake men.
So long as you aren’t one he won’t bite.”
Yang: “I’ll sit with you despite Mr. Growly-Teeth.”
Yin: “But I might bite if you put on airs.”
Yang: “Once bitten, twice smitten.”
Yin: “Alright, I’ll bite you
but not on our first date.”
Yang: “I bite my tongue.”
Yin: “The cat is out of the bag.
But please feel free to get comfortable
and poetic.”
Yang: “I wish you magical sunsets
in the Fellaheen desert.
I often imagined what it would be like
to meet a person like you.
We’d take Ginsberg’s Green car,
and watch the road unfold in psychedelic land.
Kerouac’s peripatetic journeys would pale
in comparison to our Zen journey.”
Yin: “We’d talk existentialism
and post-modernism
as our car speeds through
the darkened American phantasmagoria.
Each bump would jolt our awareness.
By the time we reached the Pacific
all would be clear.”
Yang: “How can we seal our pact of sanity?”
Yin: “Like a deaf bride and groom.”
Yang: “You mean by reading each other’s lips?”
Yin: “Yes to lips but for a more touchy-feely
kind of communication. My Pomeranian
is getting some shut-eye,
he knows you are trustworthy.”
Yang: “Let me think about it.”
She seizes the day
with a handful of his hair.
Yin: “Your trembling is from libido overload.”
She plants her lips on his
like the seed of the earth’s first flower.
The dew drips down his stem
with the rainbow colors of chakra lit by her
on a path of electric heaven
that blossoms into his sacral Genesis.
In the beginning, there were lustrous fibers
that glowed in sea strands of protoplasm
whose light was born into chromosomes
shared in the Thalassic night
when the shores of humanity were a distant song
but still remembered in the Holocene dawn.
Yin: “My Pup didn’t miss a
the whole time.
He must really trust you.”
Yang: “Quite a twist our conversation has taken.”
Yin: “Look out at the orange peel sky.
Dusk is nature’s way of saying
let down your guard, be open to the universe.”
Yang: “May I have the seat next to you
on the cosmic train?
You look like a sane person
and I could use some sane conversation
in my state of mystic madness.
I pray to the cosmic Godhead
for your safe and happy passage
through time and space, all the time.
I wish you bountiful orgasmic bliss
and sensual abandon
and transcendent states of total liberation
from the Karmic wheel.”
Yin: “My pup has an allergy to fake men.
So long as you aren’t one he won’t bite.”
Yang: “I’ll sit with you despite Mr. Growly-Teeth.”
Yin: “But I might bite if you put on airs.”
Yang: “Once bitten, twice smitten.”
Yin: “Alright, I’ll bite you
but not on our first date.”
Yang: “I bite my tongue.”
Yin: “The cat is out of the bag.
But please feel free to get comfortable
and poetic.”
Yang: “I wish you magical sunsets
in the Fellaheen desert.
I often imagined what it would be like
to meet a person like you.
We’d take Ginsberg’s Green car,
and watch the road unfold in psychedelic land.
Kerouac’s peripatetic journeys would pale
in comparison to our Zen journey.”
Yin: “We’d talk existentialism
and post-modernism
as our car speeds through
the darkened American phantasmagoria.
Each bump would jolt our awareness.
By the time we reached the Pacific
all would be clear.”
Yang: “How can we seal our pact of sanity?”
Yin: “Like a deaf bride and groom.”
Yang: “You mean by reading each other’s lips?”
Yin: “Yes to lips but for a more touchy-feely
kind of communication. My Pomeranian
is getting some shut-eye,
he knows you are trustworthy.”
Yang: “Let me think about it.”
She seizes the day
with a handful of his hair.
Yin: “Your trembling is from libido overload.”
She plants her lips on his
like the seed of the earth’s first flower.
The dew drips down his stem
with the rainbow colors of chakra lit by her
on a path of electric heaven
that blossoms into his sacral Genesis.
In the beginning, there were lustrous fibers
that glowed in sea strands of protoplasm
whose light was born into chromosomes
shared in the Thalassic night
when the shores of humanity were a distant song
but still remembered in the Holocene dawn.
Yin: “My Pup didn’t miss a
the whole time. He must really trust you.”
Yang: “Quite a twist our conversation has taken.”
Yin: “Look out at the orange peel sky.
Dusk is nature’s way of saying
let down your guard, be open to the universe.”
Truly enjoyed taking this one in...literally! 
