infinite_you the swinger of birches an infinite, omniscient being that we write our poems too when we're too proud or ashamed or scared to mention names and give specifics. it has always known the song, its lyric, its musical repose, turned bitter or blackened by the chorus, turned beautiful by a woman's voice, undulating with the high note. the person we have all complained about after bad break ups and dirty connections, the reciever of our hate poetry and evil conceits. and it is the one true person that exists in our minds and hearts, living inside the verses and the psalms, inside all that is pure; the girl or boy that has been stripped naked from all their ugliness or imperfections, their arrogance or juvenile ways, standing on the horizon like a single flame never burning out. 021021 ... pilgrim Once the Mortal coil Is shuffled off And the Clear Light Once again is Seen The True Emanation From which All are Drawn Will Become Self Evident That Point From Which I have Radiated Is The Same Point From Whence You Have Sprung In All of It's Intricate Turnings This Life Has Truly Spun The Fabric Of our Being Through the Heart of Ten-Thousand Suns Shimmering Deep in Seperate Darkness Oft Forgetting We are One 021021 what's it to you? who go blather from