IN THE MOMENT

stopped by the bending willows
twisting in the wind
rustling leaves
croaking in the garden
Buddha and the toad
sit in silence

NOTHING LEFT

searching for the petrified truth of the blues
characterized by some stench of smell
I am tired of thinking
shameful of some past performance

comforted when the morning light goes on
clinging to old hunchback bones
I am tired of performing
delighted that their will be no applause

unable to exploit the corridors of sanity
exploring denial without direction
I am unable to incorporate the Virgin Mary
drowning in complex doctrines

mournful for the destitute of weakness
transcending grace and salvation
I am examining the revelations of silent glue
fearful of the universe and beyond

listening to idiotic conversations with self
incorporated into another literary discussion
I am watching the absurd pain
travel to my left