Truth is absolutely the most important.

Well, rhythm and then truth;
You can't have a song without rhythm.
Rhythm,
Then truth.
But truth is the second most important.

Okay, rhyming and then rhythm;
People like songs that rhyme.
Rhyming,
Then rhythm,
Then truth.
But truth is the third most important.

Wait, social media and then rhyming;
You've got to connect with your fans.
Facebook,
Then rhyming,
Then rhythm,
Then truth.
But truth is the fourth most important.

I dream in colour.

My dreams are vivid,
       exciting,
              dramatic.
I travel to Agra;
I walk the Great Wall;
I eat baingan bharta.


I live in black-and-white.

My life is plain,
       ordinary,
              blah.
I travel to Starbucks;
I walk through Riverside Park;
I eat at McDonald's.

Your bed is at least
as good for sleeping
as my kitchen crate.

Except when there’s a fire
in the wood stove.

You understand.

He was a non-judgemental man—
abhorred bullies;
helped any who came,
seeking their path.
He was light in a dark corner.

He continues his Spirit Walk.
Free of constraint—
knowing not the limitations
that the physical world imposes.
He is everywhere.

Waves of embarrassment wash over me
from the top of my head, down.
Can they see it—feel it—
my lack of self-assurance?

Knots of tension
build up in my shoulders,
I try to make them laugh
with me—at me—it doesn't matter.

My hands are shaking—
I'm afraid I'll say the wrong thing—
I'm afraid I'll betray myself.
But now I'm done.

I wrote a song by accident.

Where did it come from?
I don't know.

I wrote a poem on purpose.

Where did it come from?
I don't know.

Heart worms
eat my love—
I feel nothing.