Tiger Riding for Beginners

Traveling Poet Philosopher & Occasional Wiseacre

footprints in the sand
diverge, and i wonder
if there’s a story

light sweeps slowly 
across the cave floor;
can bats tell?

the Roller,
when asked its color,
said, "all of them."

bamboo, young & supple,
looms over knurly and
stunted hardwoods

noisy parakeets
loop above the neighborhood:
just flockin' around

winter clouds
hang thick and low, but -yet-
 the sun burns through

i’ve seen nettles,
& i’ve felt nettles —
better the former

silent forest.
wind chimes hang stiffly,
as leaves sway

puffy white clouds
seem no less solid 
than gray granite

conscious.
be, do, sleep, repeat…
unconscious.