Base to Major Tom…

all around me now is sound, it seems
only yesterday, in dreams,

this keeps happening,
we keep thinking eventually finality

drops the curtain, and we become
our own selves… found in our hardened parts,

as when one knows the riddles all come
with one right answer, or the riddle is not fair.

Ezekial 17, comes to my mind,

because I happen to live in chapparel,
of the sort they have south of Lebanon…
mentioned in the riddle.

Who ignores the money side of things…
you know,
the business of being creative distributors,
agents allowing the artist
to premature.

It's your show, kid,
this is all you wished for, make it last.

Be fruitful dear branch.
A seed spread to fertilize.
Futures for the Tree.

I am the gushing river's intent,

Somersaulting waterfall's

still moment, just before

it's touch down on the ground.

Blowing wind's sweet desire,

in it's core to carry pollen on and fertilize.

The upward ****** of the wave,

to touch the crust before the fall.

The lovers' cliff hanger moment

before the lips touch and

meld together in the first kiss.

The seed's yearning am I,

to break the crust and come out

to find a place in the sun