Was it a lifetime ago, or was it a dream? I remember it being a long drive to a cold shore. And I sat alone on that shore, and I sought a shark -- not out in the waters, but within myself. Finding nothing, I felt the thing to do was to rattle in rhythm with the twisted hustle of pounding waves, and I awoke, shivering under piercing points of light that somehow felt cold, & made me feel cold - deep inside.
pale skies stretch across the great beyond, dwarfing an angler
a dark cloud down in the valley shines white from the ridge
The scholar sits, contemplating the world's perfect order, but finds that "perfect" is a stretch. "It's close to the border between Disorder and Chaos. mere miles from the junction of Great Malady and Mayhem deep within Dysfunction."
The timeline 's tilted; time runs away, speeding ever faster. As March charges headlong to May, time has lost its master. All that I can say, for today is there's still an arrow. It doesn't jump from future to past, but flies like a sparrow. But don't blame me if tomorrow you wake up yesterday, and the cars on the interstate are rolling the wrong way.
The dance they did amid the marigolds was such a captivating sight to see. It made a storied world of the household, and it filled hearts and minds with quiet glee. Their bodies glistening, naked and wild. They stomped in muddy soil with grubby feet, and hearts did sing as childlike souls did smile, and all dancers hinged and moved like athletes. But with an ankle twist, the party lulled - one dancer fallen from the frenzied horde. The momentum was lost, and minds were dulled, and musicians played only some sour chords. The flower petals all began to wilt and dancers wandered home in shame and guilt.
prayer flags languidly roll in the courtyard of the monastery one monk has seen the flags every day since they were erected & before that saw their predecessors -- sun-bleached and tattered that monk looks upon the flags as if he's never seen them before and will never see them again each monk was taught to think this way, but he's the only one who sees this way
as the sun sets the lake waters blacken to a vague abyss
I met a ram in Madurai, 'twas tethered to a pole. Though really it almost met me, taking its cyclic stroll. The ram's target was my keister, but its rope was too short. Saved by the narrowest margin; my path I did abort. The moral of this tale is clear. If you're in Madurai, give tethered rams the widest berth, or kiss your ass goodbye.
