White-throated Thrush

An evening ritual song rising from thicket to sky and to my ear

All sound is frequency 

and, vibration

Tiny little arrows of energy vibrating through space time 

imperceptible 

impeccable 

untouchable

And, if yoo’ze didn’t know, all light is photons

Wee fuckingucking photons

Beautiful mystery of life reveals in bright places otherwise cold, the black shadow of Saturn 

But yea! Let there be photons, little sandwiches of light, late night neon Washington Square summer kids grinding at the Cafe Wha being splashed with photons and time traveling protons and electric illuminated funk 2 AM weirdness when everything is photonic and blessed, more of an enso than oroboros

And, you wouldn’t see a damn thing, if it weren’t for photons

And, there is no darkness only absence of photons…darkness has a broken heart

And, there is no cold

Yoo’ze can’t make it any lovin’ colder…yooo just steal the heat degree by degree, yooo take it, like a tax, like a collection basket, goodbye gone and out, thank you very much missster man

Bits and pieces of the cosmos emergent as physical attributes to a spinning whirling fractal love joy festival that we all blunt out and wear out and burn out and moan and cry and sweat lower back anxiety sweat to everyday

Live in joy and love and midnight pagan fire rites 

Sparkling little fire bees shooting up into the sky before dimming to return to the beginning of time

And, the white-throated thrush sang at sunset