52

So much of my time is spent trying to stack the deck 

So that the odds might be in my favor.

I build my house from the hand I was dealt;

And each time I have exhausted my efforts,

Finally creating some semblance of structure,

A gust of wind effortlessly knocks it down

And I am left to pick up the pieces

And try again. 

Orator

Maybe if I shout it from the mountains
and everyone hears it all at once,
then I can stop telling my story.

Sonorous Philosophies

The boom tree pleasures are the gables of the mind 

Gallivanting 

Silk weeds sleeping havoc in verisimilitudes

A writing wrought in two 

Slickenslides of the psyche separating platitudes  

Ogling every corner of the infinite sky

Note to Self (Stay Dead)

If you want him to be dead
You have to stop resurrecting him.
You hold the power to bring him back or let him rot
So let him rot.

On slicing bread:

Where does one slice end and the next begin?
It was but one loaf until the knife came, dividing yeasty nations.
Who am I to be declaring borders and destroying what was once whole in the name of sustenance?

Two Spirits

Made in the divine's image,

I am both; I am whole;

I am undivided;

I am divine.