(RE)incarnate

4/2/2024 "Reincarnate damn you! I'm a poet, not a doctor." - Dr. Con

We Complicate Everything, Incarnation to Incarnation
Con/Jur/d, 4/2/2024

Only recently, have we realized being misunderstood, is a group                                   
game (not a solo effort)

In the glass hall, between lectures, partially blinded by the white noise
of a Buffalo blizzard, fully discombobulated, by tetrahydrocannabinol and caffeine
still under the illusion of literary chops, craving the liquidity of loquaciousness
without the                     
hard

work
and you, incarnated as Peter, were talking about the insectile buzz of distraction, 
standing  (between, between, between)                               

It

and us, and we didn’t know, in our hormonal haziness (adulterated adulthood)
we referenced The Absolute and The Relative, by the ignoble false gospel of Itness, 
rather than the truer false gospel of Isness, and for a moment the                         
static

cleared
“It’s all chemistry” 
and you said, “God, I hope not,” a pithy, logical conclusion, created by rules                 implicit, although, now, many years latter, we’d like to clarify, that’s not what we meant, from
this now above

neurochemistry

organic
fleshiness  below, while carbon to  carbon bonds

side                                           to                               covalent                                                                side

(WHAT WAS REALLY SAID)

“Rebirth is endless, yet,  being born 
doesn’t guarantee  incarnation”

What a poor vessel language is, unable to hold, stars, planets, people
all our winged, legged, bellied, rooted, spored, materialized siblings and 
their motions

Here, now, we hope you understand us better, without complication

(WHAT WAS REALLY, REALLY SAID)

Young and foolish then
scintillating snow blinds us
how fun to be lost!

Much love,

Con/Jur/d, 4/2/2024