Sometime’s believe
Six things
Before breakfast.
Shadow sized,
Their shape.
Mingling cones of night.
How do you know?
The burning below
Isn’t you – your shoe?
Writhing sand, projecting demons.
Telling us stories of hills and trees.
Rods of unflappable gentility.
Cars
Dry humus, garlic, dry beef, bread.
Sun.
The Bardo, Samsara,
Monkey-Mind,
The snake doesn’t want a kiss.
Magic.
Happens.
Wizards are opportunists,
Lip-syncing flutists,
Water
Touching the earth, revealing her tulips,
Run
Gazing the moon below the horizon,
And thaw,
Shivering empty
In the naked golden light.
Where do you feel you were born?
Small City