A daily silent meditation, for me
means nothing, who I was is who I am.
From the vantage of my early morning
the sun is hot, and is a long long road
a thing I know to hoe
these planes will align when a complex time
of organs operating in concert
as if a strobing beam--white--trained
on planes, is but a spotlight
as in a play, is plain.
To see in you and compliment, you
on anything, like the stupid summer,
how tedious the words, and shallow
and can make skin pallid, sallow
a visage in the firmament
and knowing, will fit an insatiable pit
--just like uncooked rice, it expands.
Though it's bright it is dark, and to hope
on a lark that connections maintain
in a band.
