I once had a therapist who said dreams mean nothing – just nocturnal synaptic activity as our brain filters and sorts our waking activity.
To me it was Their transaction: / A payment / Or collection / Now, literally Everything is given away.
And while I knew well it would not be a dream / I expected a little less grinding of gears.
I write alone, in verse or prose / Enjoy it, if you predispose.
No matter the Framing, the Mat, or the Pane / The Whole of The Story it shall not contain.
Moist is for cake. Only. Ever.
I’ve checked the flights from here to there, / And there to here, of course (of course!) / I’m sighing, and my Soul’s laid bare.
Just / Air
he enters the fray daunted – so much like before
Some bits and bytes of sound and light combine
July doesn’t change a thing.
What will the church do with us?
The FIve-Fold Path
This was the first in a very irregular stream of video entries. I’m slowly uploading them to my site so … More
risk brokenness to gain everything.
The day which marks our freedom dawns anew, but just what freedom’s for is in dispute.
And lo, the clock chimes, dinner’s done
I’m finding Self as self Itself gets lost
The Poets knows this / Better than their Readers / Who will see / What They will see.
When asked for a Hero of mine as a kid / My mind generally filled with a blank