I eat my soup,
and only eat my soup
mindful that—
With my teeth
I chew.
With my throat
I swallow.
With my belly
I digest.
With my mind
I taste.
With my body
I savor.
—the rest can wait.
Home » 2020 (Page 24)
Yearly Archives: 2020
all prose burn in heaven
I get the soul’s impression
that all prose burn in heaven.
Each homeward bound confession
chased tales back and forth.
Bipolar dreams depression
that yearn for common ground,
a fingers length extension
too tame to make a sound.
If all dogs go to heaven
who’s there left to be found?
A mother’s womb that’s kickin
an unborn Ezra Pound.
It’s with this last expression
your love comes to me now.
Released to death’s progression
a compass pointing north.
trust and obey
If I disappear tomorrow
in the light of today
do you think it be honest
to silently say
wind rushes swiftly, a swirl of decay
swept sands of tomorrow
I trust and obey
broken leaves at sundown
broken leaves at sundown
set fire to the trees
drinking from the heavens
of nature’s crystal spring
yellow jacket bumbling
curious honey bees
as blades of grass we tango
bound for eternity
my heart continues to beat.
Where the rose weeps
hardened and dry
another knows when
naturally to blossom.
Awake
in the morning light
my heart continues to beat.
it’s dark living in shadows
Living in the present
got you long lost in the past
now there are only memories
but how long will they last?
Like waiting for a moment
that since already’s passed
it’s dark living in shadows
of those which fear has cast.
Do spells exist you wonder
indeed I’ve seen a few
that stranger in the mirror
the stranger he is you.
So tell me of your sorrow
belief is up to you
you just grow older darling
regardless of the truth.
Simply because
There will always be those
you can not save.
Sincerely,
Simply because
ashes and asphalt
The grass was thick and warm
unlike the asphalt
which was fire to her to feet
so she lay in the grass
sharp but pliable blades
caressing her skin exposed
while the sun began
to shower her thoughts poured
like rain simmering steam rose
from the ashes and asphalt.
FAWAP!
Awake now
on my back
thumbing through
Kerouac
rattle-tat-tat goes the rain…
While the birds chit
and others chat
another day’s here
Oh, what’s that Jack?
ho-hum-mum
FAWAP!
shelved next to Shakespeare
How can one be
an open and closed book
all at the same time
he wondered,
licking his thumb
fingering pages
watching his life unfold
like a story shelved
next to Shakespeare.
Words Of An Average White Male 