as a dead bird drops i fall into a silent place with echoes upon echoes of mind moving itself and i scream with the effort to speak of it to retrieve a speck of the chill fire to recognize and pronounce it a word or shape of word or confusion of word to bear it into a semblance
To the big man i gave Money, a smile, kindness Civility To the little girl i gave Orders, a frown, rudeness Denial Of her Buddha nature No different from the big man's
There seems no end to the infinite Variety of choices for some Yet limits that shape our days and dreams Are societies more common norm
True freedom a plaything in never Never land i fear to see and say A flashy bright illusion fooling The mind in its momentary way
The money masters enslave themselves And pull the thought strings with greed's intent Profit their god they bow in their chains To bleed the masses without relent
i eat the food of the soft and hard work no time is left for a god to appear cross the river and find a path that works a life of effort all live with the true
of not excisting in the mind of self and what we call god is a bandaid that is better than nothing as we bleed life out of love upon a table raza
which is true yet maleable so now we walk and talk the walking head maybe not a word is true that's not thought softly in a moment of yells and we follow
as to the inner true unheard that can be peaceful if we try i do not know what
the fleet canary was green flying out the window the pair of feet were dead white alone in the corner with nothing but a cockroach for company the cockroach was inquisitive brown and ready to be crunched though somehow unafraid the red smear was everywhere splattered to the four corners of the womb like room the war just beginning