I am like a heroin addict
In my longing for a sublime state,
For that ground of Conscious Nothing
Where the Rose ever
Blooms.
O, the Friend
has done me a great favor
And has so thoroughly ruined my life,
What else would you expect
Seeing God would do!
Out of the ashes of this broken frame
There is a noble rising son pining for death,
Because,
Since we first met
(
Read more... )