When a black sheet has been
thrown over the moon
and a million lazy stars
have fallen from view
I hear the wind has
grown tired of traveling
I hear the sound of mandolins
crying in the mountains
I hear the rattle of
gypsy wheels
I hear the heavy hearts
of horses upon the
restless roads of
broken poetry ...
Clay.M

Carry only a backpack into the future’s embrace,
Leave behind the luggage of yesterday’s trace.
It costs dearly to drag what’s past,
Travel light, for freedom holds fast.

TikTok or God?

Life is punctuated with
pain wounds and scars

but all of nature trods
on the same threshold

nothings immune it is
la force du destin nous

bien sur la vie est dur
mais la mort tranquille

Carnivore clothes peg
Crocodilicly concealed
In Spring shrubbery