"The smell of burnt paper. The silence of the sitting bird. The leaf swaying. Things hold their form, but they lose them too. Re(again)peat, which like moss grows where undisturbed, things hold there, form, but they lose them to... I look out the window and no one appears. I see my reflection in the mirror and wonder why light bothers. Dust fills the air in applause of some wind. Dirt fills the pots, grease fills the pans... a fork in the road, a knife in the wrong hands. We mean to fill the empty spaces, smiling faces and lies that sometimes tell truths we wish not to acknowledge. Like urban pigeons who lay eggs on ledges where the winds can blow them away... Our faces slammed by a chattering book. Things hold their form, but they lose them too. Re(again)peat, which like moss grows where undisturbed, things hold there, form, but they lose them to..."
the problem of the world
is that not everything is on sale, nor
is everything to be had.
The milk is never free,
even after you’ve bought a cow
there is always more milking,
more caring, more feeding,
and the land has even greater needs.
Free at last, but not free to last?
Is that what anyone wants?
What pertains to others, does not pertain
to me. Free from the very first.
No news is good news, but bad news
travels faster. So many will not
notice because it isn’t nice,
transform oneself into a cube of ice.
The state of a union is unity,
the state of covetting is want
The state of happiness is clear
the state of doing what is right.
And right is what is left
when the false dreams
and expectations fall away
“scales from eyes”,
as the elders used to say.
Passersby, a glimpse is gotten
but such privilege is not
a right. Associations path
is accident that happens,
and “Where have I been all my life?”
is the most important question.