Since we fired God,
who's minding the store?
I mean
really?
No, please
stop and listen
to yourself:
glib, intellectual
answers spinning
out of
your mind.

Tonight,
this warm
summer night,
spread a blanket
on the grass
in your backyard.

Relax

lie back

look up

feel

listen

then come

-- sing it to me.

Floating

away

from this

tiny world,

we let go

of

everything--

and rise,

newborn constellations

in each others

skies.

Reflections of moonlight
on ******
white snowfields
tonight--
new snow
asks the world
to re-imagine
everything!

Changes have
reasons,
as
the year
has its
seasons.

Change can be
deplored,
Change can be
decried.
But
change
will happen
anyway,
even if
denied.

Today I felt my death
stalking me,
breathing its genderless
ice breath
down my neck--
giving me visions
of my semi-truck and trailer
sliding off the edge of this
icy cliff,
or that one,
with me inside,
the close-up showing me
with that concentrated look
of someone who is
unsuccessfully
trying to avoid
coming to terms
with their imminent
demise.

Needing to change the
doomed channel,
I stopped
flirting with death
long enough to
park my rig in
the big gravel lot
of Dot's Cafe,
and
eat lunch.

Compared to cold death,
wrinkled
baby tomatoes
and wilted
lettuce
were good--
real good.
The gray cucumber guts
disemboweled
all around my
salad plate
looked better than
mine would have,
at the bottom
of that cliff,
I'm sure.

when
you
react
to my
poem,
I'm delighted,
of course--  I eagerly
read your comment!
Immediately, I read the
poem again-- listening
for the sound of my temple
bell, echoing
in your
heart.