Full Spectrum Creativity
I Will Create Despite Uncle Sam

Local Divinities

We must have no choice but to love.

Eighty thousand years ago the human muse hid herself and himself

in over eight hundred thousand perfect square, sphere, and liquid splinters.

A meany pants gathered up half of them for a snack.

We must gather them all.

If we can, we push our crystal hearts into visible form.

Fear of death loses its razor in our admiration for rainbows.

We must have no choice but to love.

A thousand spiteful fires that smite worlds in end times

have no effect.  We remain standing in pools of cool azure Love.

All burdens carry on in their own joy

and a hundred thousand eight hundred million hearts steep themselves in sacrament.

Our bodies will end.  Our bodies will end.  Our bodies will end.

Make your soul.  Spirit rivers, move quickly.  We are not dead yet.

Fear of death drops onto knees and melts in pools of cool azure.

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