Monthly Archive: July 2017


We no longer recall
how we acquired it all
any more than we
remember the rules
of those suffering fools
and their simplified destiny.

We’re becoming unstuck
and we don’t give a fuck
about who we used to be.
Our method of being
is presently freeing
our probable trajectory.

As part of us swoons
and starts to commune,
all when we disagree,
our attention to “I”
is fading while nigh
is presently absentee.

On a far deeper scale
there’s no way to fail
and never a third degree.
With every embrace
we suddenly face
our actual reality.

Together as one,
we will now become
what we were meant to be.
And then feel the waves
and free all the slaves
with no certain guarantee

that hither and thither
we won’t dither and wither
right at our apogee.
We must accommodate
all our love and our hate
to then become carefree.

We’ll start to forgive
all of All That is
for setting us totally free.
While we widen our hearts,
those bothersome parts,
as our new referees.


I wash my mind with this morning poem.
I’m buried deep, inside my home.

There’s nothing to drop and nothing to say.
I’ve forgotten the route that takes me this way.

Important it was, but now it’s not seen.
My focus has changed forever again.

I once was a dream, but now I’m awake.
Who knows the next turn attention might take?

Some patterns are looming, I can feel at my back.
I once knew their form and the clunk of their tracks.

But the me who I am is just starting to dawn,
and the future is sending its choices along.

What’s expected will change in a marvelous way:
imagine this world beginning to sway.

We once were a dream, but now we’re awake.
Who knows the next turn attention might take?

monkey holes

they stay right in their monkey holes
their monkey roles, with all their clothes

they stay right in, with all their goals
those monkey holes have got them lulled

with all the things they have been told
and want to hold with all their soul

they can’t escape those monkey holes
until they mold a kind of gold

but first they have to let it grow
and brave the cold like ages old

to release their inner underflow
and imbibe the glow that reaches low

and then climb out, just like moles
from those familiar monkey holes

into the dark beyond the knolls
where frequent holy afterglows

light the way, since they’re exposed
and see the rolls inside their folds

beneath the space of all they know
but, then again, it’s time to go