I have made company to pain,
In my loneliness.
A communion of geography,
And more engaging than a
Hot summer flick or fling.
Who can blame me?
Popular culture a dizzy of sensational drama.
Our cave man mind gorges
This engagement, is it sick?
This loving hate entertainment.
My own grand opus:
This soap opera washes my mouth-
Bitter after taste.
I want away, I am
Terrified of worse.
I appease and mediate and give
Too much, too little.
Yet a life away seems so boring.
Contentment so boring.
The cycle so same
How do I make a minuet of these
Little things, little things, little things?
I haven’t the energy for distraction
Not the luxury of distraction.
My little warmth
My little pain
Aren’t they one and the same?
Little sensations
What do I choose.
It is an effort to walk one way
And not the other.
So confused.
Listen to sensation and not be consumed.
I must let go of guilt.
It is the third arrow.
I may be wrong,
I will not feel bad of my wrongness.
Let go of the second arrow.
I may hurt: I will not hurt for my hurt.
I will let go my fear.
I will not exhaust precious energy to dodge and defend the
Everlasting dodge ball.
Hurt will comes as it will. As does
Happiness, cheer, sadness, and fear.

Can I tend to flowers
Let out what I do not care for.
Flowers need care day after day.
Amongst Daisy and Posy
Suffering grows in vitality of a garden.
And once I will lay down and flower.

Will I visit my soap opera
My piece of reality
It is as it is and it is mine?


I had a flower.
Fresh as morning meadow.
Soothing as morning dew.
Elegant like the slanting late light of day.

I had a honey comb palace.
I carried as a babe to home,
The nectar of the flower:
Nurtured a kingdom of gold.

My flower is gone,
The nectar is dry,
The palace is bare,
And I starve.

I am a homeless bee,
Free to to be lost,
A prisoner to wandering,
Free to be found.

Hark, Door Hart!

Have ever you felt the heart of a door?
Three feet width,
Two inches thick,
Six feet height.
No, not there

Doubled hinges,
Golden knob,
Framed like a picture.
No, there is much more.

There is this translational portal.
From here to there,
From atrium to room,
From large to small.

In between an even smaller abode:
The door room doorway and its door,
Giving safe passage
Safe interstitial travel

Take heed sweet Jay bird.
Fly with valiant haste,
And take care; greet your friend door.
As a light feather, let it to elegant rest.