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Calling You
to be yourself is to sense for yourself
to grow by what you sense is to love
to the point of spilling all you sense
to no longer sense who’s doing who
you it or it you nor sense who’s who
nonsense only starts to make sense
when you can spell what you sense:
the meaning of life is to find your art
its purpose is to love and seed it back
doing the art is weaving life into form 
making love by dipping in and around
to fit and befit to come and become
doing the art is kneeling for the new 
to jump and feel that a purple carpet
will always fly your genie back to you
to let sands shift until you can stand
smothered to the height of a new eye
anchored between yet above all pairs
flowing to demand that you who feel
rise to bliss and become the canvas
that stretches out to paint you again
open in deep and seduce the muse
to spread on paper and come before
she licks herself dry for you to sign
life resolves to our love on the move
a snail deserting its shell in a dream
chasing the parrot wherever it sings
kissing the toad to smoke its tongue
flying high before it grows any wings
life goes on by dropping the leeches
inviting thunder to cheerlead fingers
to drink more ink and capture sense
doing the art is your undoing by love
to set yourself free to zoom into life
to grab it by its lips before the horns
kiss it time and again in fantasies of
life becoming a little more beautiful
once drenched in your here and now
keeping you busy with all that is play
so blow into it all that blows into you
grace it with more grace just in case
the value of beauty does the beauty
of value a favor by winning this race
we dance hide & seek of give & take
only in a kiss can you and I embrace
for life to brew in a balance of breath
hanging on a swing for more not less
to call you is to have you echo our call
to caracol to call this a call to caracol
a trip of trips in retreat for fun and art
of taste touch scent sound and sight
something somewhere someone new
wants to find you everywhere they go
in a prayer sung naked and virginity
redeemed from nature at its kindest
wired to love the rounder and colored
we are who we bring into our sphere
so that we paint despite which paint
until we discover infinity has a color
becoming what we mix and produce
of all that we brew purge and erect
home is heart not where we’re used
we do not get addicted to an x or y
but to escaping that there and then
let us make it beautiful so it beams
us to paradise and paradise to hell
heaven is a jungle we ground to play
but when what is craved is a surprise
enter the labyrinth and exit the game
a purple house may change its color
if the moon has a belly and the belly
had a button we’ll press when it's full
some eight gates between two gods
and more species of birds in a hole
than anywhere in a very plum world
we design a station to shower in feel
found it a dot in a white haired heart
a dead garden begets the live jungle
foreign blood that whilst long dead
still lives and enlivens and floods love
pumping the land of mango and lime
with thirst for new to suckle in green
from a fatherly cactus to mama aya
these plants are calling you to you:
we call you to come place your trace
in xilitla of mexico’s san luis potosí
to come in twos on the twos of twos
two to two from one of one for one
calling that calls us into calling you:
the call to caracol is come become
come in within come in throughout
come in beyond come dot the heart
we call you and call you over to you
come do come love come do the art
to plant you is to seed you to stay
clone you off the traces you become
life encodes itself in our wins of wins
glues art to truth in genes that dance
to serve no function but lots more life
watching over us without knowing us
doing the art and publishing in flesh
from plants who move us all around
to we who move from plant to plant
in cyclic ceremonies dropping apples
to eve and isaac and rodo and steve
we do not die when we die but when
our names are last said hence dead
children and theirs carry our names
as anything we make: a tower or art
withstanding time and faults in code
to live forever do what forever loves
make it pretty unless you have heard
of anything pretty that tires of stares
we pass who pass in drooling about
once upon a thing so pretty that still
lives on today and bears your name
we live as long as the art we create
doings desired beyond this stream’s
bla blas too bla to arrest them still
beauty is value if value is beautiful
when torn between a this and more
pause to pick till your heart cannot
know then that beauty has knocked
commanding your all to chill in a still
to remind you life treads in glamour
visiting with candies all who cannot
wait for stuff left by all who did not
some say we think therefore we are
but we are feel and hence we create
art is the memory of all we have felt
while we are a first record of its kind
to the original start of art called life
art is this reel of life touching itself
art is our best manifesting our best
art carries us when we cannot carry
our stuff or selves or anything at all
art is the only matter that mattered
since bang was little till art got big
all we’ve loved and all loved into us
do we now get the enormity of art?
art is life making love made L.egible


Your love helps me write something worth reading or do something worth writing. Thanks, L.

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