Sai Baba and The Sex Machine

Nature is essentially habitual--
So much more than just life and death divides us,
the viscid chasm repeats the traces of our longings
though its very essence remains most ill-defined

The alien presence of our Human DNA
speaks its cryogenic thrill--
Tantric Saints extend our just, idea, of power
brings us to the brink of our waking dream
as we climb the ladder of the benevolent spiral–

The collective Human memory whispers "live"
while the force of sexuality illuminates the kill.

The doubtful voyeur likes to watch
alone in its abandoned hope
only pretending to hide its eyes once discovered--
the habits of biography make its subtle demands
on the morphic resonance of our invisible passions
we decline our essential truths, replacing them
so carefully, with fear

The eternity machine spits formative causation
into its blended sexuality of synthesized chemicals
first wet, then crystalized in the Human laboratory of despair–

Waring genitals rize against the argument of reality,
ontologic molecules cannot be denied

Prayer mixed with magic, mixed with blood
confounds our attempts to mature,
the hereditary bacteria of assumption
strips of us our own becoming, finally,
there is no relevance to our aesthetic spirituality–

We discover new ways to empower the invisible.

The fantasy addiction rides the last beckoning
of its pleasure seeking missile–Self Destruction

IS the contra-religion of the Post Modern socius–
Yet–from the impossible is born the cosmic mind.