Photo by Jaynne Wellygan WORDS header
















A Thousand Wheel Wagon

A one thousand wheel wagon
Rolls into your heart
And you try to make sense of it !
Think of it…
Sense is not my forte…
Passion, heart expression ! yes !
But sense…no!!… no!!!
So I'm in the thousand wheel wagon
And I'm waving my saxophone about
With one hand
I'm throwing confetti
With the other
A spirit of celebration
And the band is on board
The music's all crazy and wild
Laughter is all about ? ! ? !

Remember… in the end your lucky
To leave a stone Bearing
your name, your time and your epitaph

"The Earth is made for Lovers
but the World is ruled by Stiffs"

Yes you're lucky for just that much in the end.
Who knows the anatomy
Of the spirit ?
Flesh and bone blood and art
The crazy chemistry of really being here
Delighting in the illusion that you have no illusion
As virtual reality unfolds
upon your senses
without a single pixel wrong .
Shadow on shadow
Aligned with the ever deepening truth
That what is is and what isn't probably is too
The convoluted paradoxes
Multiply and one wonders,
How would you know if one of those thousand wheels
On that wagon were flat ?
and would it matter?
Each careful detail in the anatomy of the spirit
Must needs be aligned
With its corresponding
Physical expression
Layer upon layer
Love upon love
Light upon light
Core to shell starbound we sail
As the thousand wheel Wagon takes flight into the eternal night of doubt
Shedding light where no beam has been before
The boredom with celebrant song
For why not sing along
This time-honored mantra
Propels us out ;
A life boat on the starship named love
There is no shadow where light begins
And if there were then call it shade
Enjoy the horny gnarly bits for fun and ridicule must have their day
Who's to say
This or that is wrong or right

Laughing into the seriousness
Of night
The Brightest star
The Star across the void

The emphatic nature of the first fart of the day
Resounds into the realms of expression
With more intrinsic meaning than all the pedantic pontifications my little brain can conger
It brings to mind the famous French flagelist who at the turn of the century
Brought the bourgeoisie and noveau riche
To their knees with his
"whistling" if you will of the Marseillaise
Republican irony read between the lines or cheeks…safe to say
Paris is Still Sick
And people still fight for what they believe in.

As Ghandi said :
"What ever you do is futile
but you must do it anyway!"

So with that in mind we forge on into this abyss happy in the knowledge
That we know nothing.
Let the trumpets sound
Let the games