Larger than the assignment of peace or the makeshift derogation of an unknown sound pigeonholes. His whole life in the rough calculations in the white dust on the table erased by a breath or dismissed by a wave of the hand a can of carbonated liquid sucrose a tailor-made tube of tobacco, he became a fragile statistic. O ut here at the high end of the zip code, a work of random genius. If you let the wind take you wherever it goes, have a look at where the other things the wind blows around end up. In a state of constant negotiations, I cross another bridge.
P anicked by their inner selves, people run away.
The immovable spot, joyful anticipation in the sorrow of the world, the vortex of suffering, the crisis of the threshold, mind stuff, gross matter, time asks for violence then one day your body says make peace with yourself. Moments of faith allow me to write and being able to write allows me faith. You try to never step into the same poetry scene twice. P igeons roll in the gray sand to warm themselves. A blue heron wades in the shallows of a risen river whose placid surface reflects a gorgeous beauty of red yellow orange and green abstract pools of light.