Dish on Plate

The buffers we create
Are relative to the dishes on our plates

Taking drugs to hibernate
Making babies to fatalistically placate

we hide
We. distance.
we Blame
we discourage

Dissonant ripples
Timeless time
and time again…
Blemishes in the Pond

Addicted to the Flavor of Your Mind

When you asked me if you could have me,

I gave myself to you.

If you wanted me, you would have taken me.

I could care less, if I choose to…

Steam, Steam

Vanilla

enveloping sense of calm,

while calamity rains on a tin roof.

Lies to hide behind

presents Shadow as self,

authentic ugliness

Steam, Steam

Garden of the Dying

Blossoming,

in the garden of the dying

Out of place

(I take mine)

Sense lingers as Elder-berries bloom

Inevita-brates are crawling once again

Ardently decaying

knees first into soiled shells

To hibernate nakedly

in the light of

life and loss

Let go

The Gifted Blade

Often, she feels as though she stands out,

like a really tall blade of grass

in a freshly mowed yard,

awkward and alone.

 But from her awkwardness,

She has a decent view

of nearly all in front of and next to her.

Yet, she is at a deficit to see all that is behind her,

fore she is merely a blade of grass.

At times,

when the wind blows her just so,

she can see where she is coming from.

Friends, as we are, act as the wind.

The grass may seem greener ahead of or behind us…

but it is greenest in our hearts…

Open your heart for loving and healing.

She love the wind.