
through a window:
first ripples of a Spring rain
seen on a pond.

through a window:
first ripples of a Spring rain
seen on a pond.

The train is speeding down the line.
Gold Buddha glints in the sunshine.
Jarring is the train whistle’s whine,
we plunge into a dark tunnel.

So many hills I have seen
That grow so soft and thick and green.
Though jagged rocks sit down below
The grass and shrubs and weeds that grow
Through cracks and gaps, in mud patches --
Sprawling wide from tight-knit batches
That stone cannot constrain or kill.

through the Autumn,
one tree holds leaves longer,
then drops them faster.

chilly winter day,
prismatic splotch in sky—
no bow, no ring.

Winter sun
casts long shadows
through dead grass.
The suppressed poems by Ernest Hemingway
farm surrounded by jungle:
what will disappear tonight?
I must create a system
william blake; Jerusalem: The emanation of the great albion
or be enslaved by another man’s…
Saying Yoga exists to make one more flexible
Me
is like saying that it exists to wring farts out of one’s body,
both will happen — neither is the primary objective.
He that is without sin among you,
JESUS; John 8:7
let him first cast a stone at her…
The best government is that which governs least.
Henry david thoreau, Civil Disobedience
Gods always behave like the people who make them…
zora neale hurston; Tell my horse

one strange tree
curls like a question mark:
Autumnal forest.