Tulpa Time

In my    tulpa time
 I would,  
    I would talk
To tombs where

Oblivion sat .

She would    taunt
   Worst
when    Flowers
Bloomed
            Brightest
In spring...

With the
           Honeysuckle
Fragrance
           that would
Shift,  
  shift on the wind, and
Life  
   sprang from  
mud.

Where fig seeds     lay,
The bruxism of        skull
After skull would
Sound as,
          as taranta,

A warning.

A warning to all:

“Cheaper to     Keep Her...
To keep    that fragrant love
And  kiss
        copacetic”.

In my     tulpa time
I would,
  I would walk
In the timeless gardens

Of Gethsemane.

The Impasto of    mold
From bullets           old,
And elastic
        scars
Of family      grievances.

Oblivion laughs.

Her moist         breath
Condensing      
        as ice
On ancestors names
Long                 forgotten.

The Bread of          bones
And drink of              Felicity;
A duo to                   energize
Any endeavor of                    war.

In a land short, short
of elastic belief,

and              long,           long on
Cloistered  karma.

         A land of closed fists.
                A land of closed hearts.


In my tulpa time
I would, I would talk
to the tombs where

Oblivion sat.

And she would laugh.