I fill my lungs
with the air of my ancestors
knowing my purpose
is their peace.
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Heaven here on earth.
How curious it is that I
no longer beg or question why
but rather like the naked eye
accepts the sky is blue—
with honesty and strength that I’ve
been granted through these tales of time
woven as one as you are I
accepts the ancient truth,
for like the moon and sun decide
to shed or shield eternal light
with arms spread thin wide opened eye
keep mine closed now to see,
what beauty lies beyond the pine
is neither up to you nor I
it’s always been like time gone by
regardless of the proof—
in truth it’s curious that I
could feel so pure estranged from life
whose meadow in the golden light
is heaven here on earth.
freedom’s many son.
Whenever
I am here
I am freedom’s
many son.
I am open
and aware
now
of my choice.
a beautiful life
It is one of youth’s greatest gifts to be
confused and curious and dangerous.
It is also one of maturity’s great gifts to be
dangerous and curious and confused.
So consider me curious as to why
those dangerous days, strung out and confused
could seem so simple to me now?
Here in the arms of infinite light
you will see that darkness soon enough
and I hope you’ll identify it as: a beautiful life.
soup
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.
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
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!
Words Of An Average White Male 