Leaving a trail behind me of journals
People are tossing in the garbage
Or reading
Or placing in their bookshelf
It's better than ***** dishes in the sink
It's sinking in that I'm leaving soon
Another whirlwind behind me I'm sure
Reminds me of all the fragmented books
I've wrote that want to be together
Consolidate so my words can keep up with me

Sand is the tangible symbol of time
At least twice a month
I get it in my scalp and in between my toes
Scratching at it later
Gnawing at my worries
Freedom percieved by a split mind
Is not freedom at all
water dangling from the sky
In the desert
Clouds refraining to cry
but they really, really, want to

More emptiness
A vulnerable phenomenon
Tempts the soul
Reverts to coping habits
Or more emptiness
And Become one with
MerKaBa