Believe the monkey with the gun is not real reason to run.

Stand your ground,
and turn around, and cast a long shadow, as the sun goes down,

the life worth living lay still in the shade coming the other way,
as these rocks I live on glow a certain Baja rosy hue, impressive,
the way
peace remains, on rocks you return to often.

Choosing between long or short for the finale in the thousand
Dime Poems and Novel Mind Tuning Forks I have left here,
at this place in cyberspace where gifted witnesses of life,
appear to soar,
like eagles gathering to feast, while each leave a carcass,
some where, for late comers,
near the end. F' Art, art made by… I cannot imagine what,
could wish it otherwise, joy, empty or full, pulling in, or spewing
or spilling, all along the brim of our shared existance,

in these most interesting times, when no day is long enough,
and sleep is welcome, any time.