Big Soul in Small Shoes

Difficult Dust
I am a Single Poem
Prone to Rust
I am a Rotting and Fragrant Fruit
On your Tree of Souls
A clean and fluffy Laundry Item
on the Great Clothesline of the Sky
Washed once, Washed twice
Hung out to Dry
An Ace of Hearts, a Throw of the Dice
A river of Intent – a Jacuzzi of Ice
I’m all over the Map, looking for Home
Head in the Stars, worn to the Bone
I’m not going Far
A throw of the Stone
Difficult Dust
Single Poem
Prone to Rust
On the way Home.

We Ride the Tides of Implicit Intention

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Life, and More Life…

today, I went to a funeral.

they’re now called memorials, or celebrations of life, rites of passage.

there are some mile-markers in life, in the monumental history of man, that never change, despite the changes in terminology and ornamentation that we apply on the outside.

this was the father of a good friend, a gentle and handsome man. a man truly wearing visible sweetness of the soul in his everyday demeanor.

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