Durachio

Not enough trees in the world

To shade me from myself.

Not enough blindness

To shield me from my truth.

Not enough tears of joy

To cancel my equation.

Durachio.

Fragile

The acquaintance and progression of a talent
Takes many turns.
It must be nurtured by the self
As no one else really knows it is there.
If it waits to develop, it changes.
A swerve can dislocate; ideas and notations lost,

The dawn of each new day brings it’s own
Information to the soil of hidden dimensions.

On the Border

Just beneath my heart, is a place for you.

I had to remove you from my heart,

But I could only place you so far away,

So you landed right beneath the curve.

   They say if you do not feel your heart,

   You can not feel or receive love.

Just beneath my heart, is a place for you.

Where you stay in perpetual anonymity,

Without outside notice, with inside stamina,

Counting butterflies and whistling a tune.

Camping 4

The tent is an eminent, shining light,

Glowing within and without.

Only the thin walls of time

Exist to define its shape.

There is no heartland in the tent,

There is only the openness of

Air, Space and Time -

Heart flows everywhere with its

Motion in hidden dimensions.

Camping in the Stratosphere

My whitest bed is a speeding planet,

With memory and expanding space.

The sheets are layers of impermanence,

Peeled off, replaced by new, temporary

meanings.

The structure of the Hawaiiana, pineapple posts

Add the comedic element to the contemplative

Nature of the lightening way.

Though the space does not stop at the edge

of the softness,

It hovers in the emptiness of its own time,

With a specific permanence that transcends itself.