Perched quietly above the clouds atop the great mountain the rainmaker gazed down upon his village. The crops were young and needed rain badly lest they perish in the blazing summer sun that was soon to come. Thinking back upon the great chief who preceded him, the rainmaker remembered the days of feast, but more sharply engraved across his worried brow was the memory of the great famines and the pain they brought to the families.
  It seemed the great chief before him could create rain clouds from the swirling dust devils that encircled the homes in the village. There were many glorious days when the rains would fall, and the rivers would flow full. But the rivers would only to run through the valley in torrents and wash out to sea, very little to be soaked up by the crops.
“How can I ever be a good rainmaker”, thought the young chief, I will never make the rains come as much as the great one before me, and even what rain I can coax out of the great rain gods, it will only wash away, and most of it will never feed the thirsty crops. For it takes scores of great storms to give the hard ground enough soaking to make it through the heated summer.
Oh great one, give me wisdom and grant me your gift of the rainmaker.
As the evening approached, the young rainmaker danced atop the mountain and shook his fists towards the sky, silhouetted against the full spring moon. On through the night he chanted, prayed and danced. At dawn a vision came to him from the great spirit... “My son, only with age and experience will the rains come for you as they did for me. You have the gift of the rainmaker, I have already given that to you...but it takes time to for this to develop.
In your prayers you have also asked for wisdom.... So heed my words. Teach your people how to capture the rain, how to channel its energy and to cherish each drop so that it may best serve the harvests we need to survive. Be crafty like the fox, and catch the rain”.
As the young chief ran down the mountain, he was filled with great inspirations, ideas and plans on how to carry out his ambitious charge. We will build great canals and basins to hold and distribute the rain, we will built shade structures to shade the rain basins from the sun, we will recycle the rain once it has passed through the fields and use it to water our livestock, we will nurture the small amounts of rain that I can bring and perhaps we will all prosper from our wisdom.
That night the young chief gathered his village elders to explain his plan.
“What is wrong with you!” exclaimed one of the most elder.... “Why can you not make it rain like before ?” we were happy then, and there was no talk of such work and discipline !! Let us be to tend to our hobbies and leisure.... You are the rainmaker, go make rain !!!”
“I am only blessed with but a little rainmaking power” explained the young chief... “But I have been given wisdom to share with you”.
Up stood another elder...”All this talk of wisdom and sacrifice, surely we must be granted more harvest shares for such an effort” “
"I cannot promise more harvest shares now my friend, not until we know our harvest” said the young chief. “
“We have many other endeavors to occupy our days than to make sacrifices because you are such a pitiful rainmaker... I am to built a great new longhouse this year, I have no time build such a rain catching system” said another. “We will need the crop harvest to be great this fall, I give much food to the needy ones who live in the village over in the next valley and will need to feed their large families come fall !” said another elder. “This just won’t work” chimed in another elder, I am to go on great journeys throughout this summer, and I need the crops to be bountiful this fall to fill my silos. “ GO MAKE RAIN !!
The dejected young chief slowly climbed back up the mountain, the weight of the harvest seemed heavy on his shoulders. If only they would listen to the wisdom that the great chief passed down to me. If only I could make them understand.
Then as the young chief looked up the trail, a beautiful princess warrior appeared before him. Do not fear my love, we will find a way to make them understand. Come with me, we will craft a plan.....

The weather plots his journey
Town to town in dead of night
Fields dead and on a gurney
He comes in to make it right

A rainmaker, people call him
A psuedo-scammer others say
He sells himself as godlike
He comes quick and does not stay

He tells people what they wish for
He beats the storm in to their town
He seeds their minds with his tall stories
He promises more green than brown

Like an evangelistic angel
He beats the weather to the ground
He's a salesman like no other
He picks their pockets with no sound

A rainmaker, just a scammer
He works the towns where nothing lives
He is an alchemist non-gratta
He always takes and never gives

He sells snake oil and concoctions
He is a shaman in disguise
He promises rain where none has fallen
There is more moisture in the farmers eyes

He takes credit for a rainfall
He promises gold where once was straw
He's a rumplestiltskin with their feelings
He sells them only what they wish they saw

He may believe in what he tells them
He always puts his name out on a stake
But, can he truly make the skies open
That is a choice the desperate make

Panic,
placed on the splintered edge of a dreaming mind,
I spit and sputtered, like the dying wings of
a dragonfly on a cold cappuccino morning.

She called me in the dark moody blue hue of early morning
as if to steal the broken moon from the attic in  my chest.
So early I could hear the creak of spider legs
inching for a place of warmth.

Still in dream logic,  she was crying so quietly
Melted spoons for a brain, I could only hear
the groans and pains of
the pet spiders on my ceiling,
their  so cute and pissy in the morning.

She muffled "I need help"
I snapped awake as if a reflex to fight a charging train wreck.
This time advice came direct from my dream landscape the truth served dark black
and without the vanilla flavor.
I focus and get in gear "Hey girlie I am here, whats going on?"
An  hour goes by a like a cat sneeze on a stormy day.


Again she laughs if I could see her, her smile would be wide tired and tear stained.
I laugh  with her, while aching at the corner of my eyes " well hey try that tomorrow and if it doesn't work we can brainstorm to try something else. Call me tomorrow my sleepiness is welting  my consciousness, I am not much use now except maybe for some mad hatter talk." A pause  she sighs as if pushing of sleep. I wanted just one more smile to be sure" Stand strong if you can survive this hit the sky will clear for you. We'll strangle the rainmaker if we have to"

parting jokes and the call the ends, my moon back in my chest
content spiders basking  in rays of light I can almost hear the hum of the morning sun.

I smile fading with the ceiling tucking me in, I can see her curled up with her stuffed animals half crying half terrified she falls to sleep drooling on her long time best friend
Mr finkers.

and
Finally the purr of happy spiders lulls be back to sleep.

There’s tale upon tale told
In praise of Washington’s Big Train
And the horsehide deeds of Old Pete
Shall be told often and again.
And honest Matty, the Big Six
Hurl’d more than a gem or two,
But they can’t match The Rainmaker
Tossed by Pittsburgh Dan McGrew.

He’d come by train from Keokuk
As green as a patch of clover;
And though he stood ‘bout six-foot-three
Weighed one-forty or just over.
He sauntered up to the owner
Mister Dreyfus? I’m Dan McGrew,
And I am the damnedest pitcher
That anyone has ever knew.

Old Barney found himself amused
By such a gangly cow-town rube
So the boss man and Freddy Clarke
Thought they’d have some fun with this ****.
There’s Wagner—can you strike him out?
His reply left them in stitches.
I reckon that won’t be too hard;
I should only need three pitches.

Oh, so your fastball is that good?
Skipper Clarke said with a chuckle
Don’t throw one, so Clarke said aghast
Can your curve make Hans’ knees buckle?
He shook his head, Nope, don’t throw that,
As he grinned like a wiseacre.
Got just one pitch, that’s all I need,
And I call it The Rainmaker.

They called the Dutchman to the plate
To knock him back to I-o-way
And he swung early and swung late
But couldn’t put one into play
And Wagner grunted, moaned and screamed
But found he couldn’t hit his stuff;
Whatever this Rainmaker was
It sure was plenty good enough.

He tossed the ball twenty feet high
Just a soft lob with a stiff wrist
And a slight twitch of his fingers
To give it just a little twist
Oh, it might swoop like a falcon
Or drift as softly as a dove
And often it would come down wet
From touching rain clouds up above.

The clubs in the senior circuit
Found themselves flummoxed by this lad:
He no-hit the Bees in Beantown
And drove the Cubs and Redlegs mad.
He hasn’t got enough to hit!
They growled in Brooklyn and Philly,
But his ledger said otherwise;
A gaudy twenty-six and three.

The final day of the season
Found the Buccos and Giants tied,
And no one doubted who would be
Taking the hill for Pittsburgh’s side
For New York, Matty took the hill
And both hurlers were simply great
Not one batter had crossed home plate
As the two clubs completed eight.

The Giants bench hooted at him
That beanpole throws like a girlie!
But he got Doyle to pop up
And then fanned Snodgrass on just three
The next Giant to reach the plate
Was the hard-hitting Red Murray
And John McGraw said Now he’s done,
Red will chase him in a hurry.

But Murray tapped the first pitch foul
And missed the second one outright
The Pittsburgh bench now taunted him
Good morning, good noon and goodnight!
McGrew than tossed one up so high
His catcher swore it clipped a bird
And then Dan strolled right off the mound
As not a soul uttered a word.

The old ballpark is long gone now
And those who toiled the same;
That pitch still lives in infamy
As does the pitcher and the game.
The Bucs have had other heroes
With deeds and feats of great renown
But they still speak of Dan McGrew
And his pitch which never came down.

Well, why not me, I reasoned
(No surprise to friends and loved ones,
As I have always considered my time
On this spinning patch of rock
As something of a monument to the value of pragmatism)
But there were still the normal sine-wave vacillation
Between tenuous optimism and odds-driven grim reality,
Fanciful discussions of Chinese herbs and Mexican clinics
And, later still, of time frames and stock transfers,
All the while various folks attired in suits and clinic coats
Debating matters pertaining to the coda of my personal symphony
(Doing so as if yours truly wasn’t even in the room)
Until, deciding my input might be somewhat pertinent, I said
If it’s all the same to you, I would like to go home.

It was, in a sense, like getting back on an old Schwinn
(Fender dented, rubbing on the front tire just the least little bit,
The chain needing oil, grudgingly giving in
To the demands of the crank)
Sitting, unused but inordinately patient, next to the barn,
The whole notion of settling back into a pace you’d forgotten,
Like dialing back a metronome from allegro to andante
Without missing a beat or flubbing a note.
What’s more, there were the sensations you’d never made time for
While under the thumb of daily deadlines and train schedules,
Greeting you like friends you hadn’t seen for twenty years
But started gabbing with as easy as slipping on old jeans:
The scent of the lilacs, overpowering but borderline mystical,
The informal yet precise ballet of the cattails and jewelweed,
The fields of cows that, even though you know it can’t be the case,
Are populated by the same Bessie and Bossie
You taunted and pelted with watermelon as a child
(I have made it a point to proffer my apologies),
The dark, pine-choked hills,
Formidable but accessible, even comforting.
Sometimes, when I am not paying attention,
I catch myself all but tearing up,
And I say to myself, ever so softly,
As not to disturb the squirrels and the wrens,
I had almost forgotten.  Christ forgive me,
I had almost forgotten.


I’d assumed (sometimes, I can be astounded
At the full extent of my own foolishness)
That she would merely take a leave of absence;
She has, after all, an alphabet full of advanced degrees,
A rainmaker’s reputation and the billable hours to match.
Columbia and Harvard Law, after all,
But she grew up down the road just a piece in Ebensburg,
So this is all part and parcel of her as well
Hard coded in the DNA for better or worse, she’ll say,
All the while shaking her head and laughing softly.
Surely you don’t want to stay here, I’ll say,
Boorishly rational in the face of everything
Which would argue to be otherwise,
You’ve read enough Forbes and Fortune;
Altoona is dead, Johnstown is dying,
And she allows that, for a time, coming back
Was the source of some misapprehension on her part,
Until it dawned on her that on those rare occasions
It had occurred to her to glance skyward in mid-town,
She had seen faceless tiles of windows
Sufficient to sheet a Great Pyramid,
An Armageddon’s worth of angels and gargoyles in the cornices,
But she had not, even once, ever seen the stars.

Few witness the moon walking in silent, Sentiments of jubilee
Invasion of fear face the remembrance of time
Long and treacherous road  sinking the illusion of power.
Rejection of the known journey inside my heart
Spare the hands of a prophet writing within his boundaries
The breeze ride the wave inside a realm of love
Nails of steel pierced a divine body through a swirling wind
A rush of the light, the entitlement was given on a circle of twelve



Once the drums commence to follow the sounds of fire
Many hallucinations follow a silent prayer
The manhood crushed by a kiss of a concubine
Drink the glair in my eyes
The dusty road is fragile, but her smile was cut short
By the strong sense of forgiveness
Courage settled under the belly of the beast



Let go the fertility of your inner self
The music of mother land brought deliverance from evil
Rise up and claim the truth of passion
Nevertheless the emptiness of sadness
Gladly remedy the sinners solemnly
Nowadays the friendship of hands propose
To unveil the peace of the clouds
Return the fear to the skies with a promise of freedom




Rony Joseph all rights reserved 2010

Roll up...Roll up
the show is set to start
One playing for your head
One playing for your heart

It's time for an election
To see who rules the roost
Time for your selection
Who gives the bigger boost

Matchmaker, Matchmaker
make me a match
Pick me a President
Which one to catch
Matchmaker, Matchmaker
Show me a name
It's doesn't much matter
They are all the same

Roll up, Roll up
They're all set to speak
A ten minute talk
That may take all week

Choose either party
and their rainmaker head
make promises of fairy dust
You'll get once your dead

Matchmaker, Matchmaker
Show me the one
Who will unload the bullets
But, still own the gun

Matchmaker, Matchmaker
The time is now here
To pick a new President
Please ally my fears

Roll up, Roll up
The choices are few
I'm voting for one
But, I do not know who

Roll Up, Roll Up
The show's set to start
with enameled fake smiles
I can't tell them apart

Roll Up....Roll Up...

I call her the rainmaker
Meadow in my heart and a lake abundant
Out in the horizon the rain clouds are
But here in my heart the drops do dance

I call her sunflower
The path unworn is wary of company
A million a second a billion butterflies an hour
For there she were and lucky I be
I call her the rainmaker

A man known as "The Master"
came to speak to our small town
He was revered as a wise man
And he always dressed in brown
He answered every question
Though his answers did confuse
He was more of a rainmaker
A charlatan, a ruse
For twenty bucks he'd let you in
To hear him speak about the world
His hair, was just a birds nest
And his beard was braided, twirled
I went to see this magii
Find out answers about life
I asked him if he knew the truth
He said, "I see you've met my wife"
I asked him what his answer meant
He said "she always asks me the same thing"
"like, when I've lost the rent"
"Master, all I want to know
Can true happiness come to man"
"If you've money, ***** and three drunk broads"
"Then son, I'd say you can"
"Master, that's not what I mean"
"Then, just why did you ask?"
"I didn't mean that happiness"
He took a sip from his small flask
I sat and looked about me
At the crowd around his feet
I was more confused than ever
And was getting dizzy from the heat
Another man stepped forward asking
"Master, tell us about love"
"didn't you read about the broads
"About thirteen lines above"
"Love..it is confusing"
"It's always different every day"
"If you want love that never changes"
"Then my boy, you'll have to pay"
"I'm not sure that's what I need"
"To hear, Is it the truth?"
"I see you've met my wife as well"
"A big girl, red head...Ruth"
"No master, I just need to know"
"Before I choose a bride"
"Well, make sure you can see the tv"
"When she's lying on her side"
"Always mark the ***** bottle"
"Just in case...you know..me thinks"
"That way, you can always prove to her"
"That you haven't had three drinks"
"Master, this is way off base"
"I think you are a fraud"
"Young man, I know of what I speak"
"I see that you don't have a broad"
He too, sat down, head spinning
The master was confusing as all hell
But, we all sat here in his presence
Under this strange man's spirit spell
"Master, I have one more thing"
"I must know before I leave"
He said" it's two doors down and to the right"
As he wiped his nose upon his sleeve
"No, not that, I don't need that"
"I just need to know what's real"
"Do I believe in all around me?
"Do I believe in what I feel?"
"Christ", he said,"you are a pain"
"I can't answer things like that"
"I just know, who won last nights game"
"Do these pants make me look fat?
"You speak to me of truth and love"
"I know of  broads and trucks"
"The only truth I know is that"
"You've wasted twenty bucks"
"Master, you're a ripoff, sir"
"I guess this is a lesson in my life"
"You really do not know the truth"
"Are you sure you've not met my wife?"......

The Funny Man lies dormant
When the Dark Man come around
The Dark Man is oppressive
The Funny Man goes to ground

The Funny Man is hiding
From The Dark Man deep inside
The Funny Man can't beat him
The Funny Man has tried

The Funny Man's a rainmaker
Bringing laughter where it's not
The Dark Man is a monster
Full on vindictiveness and rot

The Funny Man is fragile
The Dark Man knows it's true
The Funny Man needs attention
The Dark Man needs it too

The Funny Man is worldly
But just what makes him laugh
The Funny Man is honored
When you get his autograph

The Dark Man needs no thank you's
The Dark Man has a goal
He will beat The Funny Man to a pulp
And The Dark Man gets his soul

The Funny Man is a fighter
He will give it his best try
But in the end The Dark Man takes control
And the Funny Man must die.....

I charged a town full of hicks ten thousand bucks to make it rain.
They said if there was no precipitation, I would be in a lot of pain.
They were desperate for rain because of a three month drought.
They actually paid in full, I can't believe they paid that amount.
What they didn't know was that when it comes to making rain, I don't know what to do.
Those hicks knocked all of my teeth out and now I can't even chew.
Those hillbillies also lit a match after dunking me in a barrel of kerosene.
I knew they would be angry but I had no idea they would be quite so mean.
Now I'm in the hospital and I have 3rd degree burns.
Don't ever con hicks, that's a lesson I have learned.

The record is stuck on a track titled Opposing
as the turntable whirled around and around
lyrics of unrequited love and a dying heart dozing
illusions of an Angel that glides in secret underground

The tune is of opening memories and *******
rubbing salt and pepper on raw scars and wounds
retelling a fantasy of woe they wish is depressing
leaving trails of green, pink and gold that hounds

But what is a world without make believe to cheer
do you tell the clouds they're trillions droplets of water
when it hangs so vividly in blue skies delightfully sheer
that a rainmaker knows the alchemy to be a blue plotter

What you think you see is merely going East to reach West
a journey where destination is reached before departure
romance never inclined as the genius sat a ****** test
vibes of past angels had shown this here not a true picture

Forewarned and forearmed the rest is merely theatre
good grace and humanity demands fair play and civility
walk on and present personably in this dramatic sphere
keep in mind an end game that holds fine mental agility

The record is stuck on a track titled Opposing
as the turntable whirled in and out around and around
know that omerta demands you have no heart exposing
in dark days your enemies will know where to take you down

I feel I'm going to discover I'm a fool
You're telling me you're giving up
You say you're tired of waiting for me
I say it's like we're breaking up
You say I wouldn't know it..
I start to think you're too nice
should tell me how wretched I am
Instead you say:
"People always bend backwards for you"
I'm stuttering claiming it's not true..
You're leaving just as I started living
I want to tell you to stay but I know this is right, you leaving me is right...
I like to have my path disappear around the bend, for you and I, that was the end..
We said we'd climb a mountain together.
Travel the world in a Fibonacci sequence
Till we made it to space, the milky way..
You asked me once from what I was made, called me a rainmaker..
We made sense, I can't explain
Why you leaving seems right...
the storm Will always conjure your name

let me tell you this
the numbers increase
then restart and you change
in increments
like the yellowing of a book
or erosion of a stone
if you must talk sit comfortably
with a beverage of your choosing
and say plainly
here I am
here’s the story of it all

let me tell you about music
about how Boys Don’t Cry
how I sit and let the melancholic
twang of a guitar
and ripple of drums submerge me
like a wave on a winter night
how the syllables of erstwhile years
still hit as hard as cricket *****

let me tell you about the television
the what we don’t need and reality
warped past the point of reality
breathing out the same few sentences
at midday and rat-a-tat of gunfire
on a street of sixteens
or in a dusty ramshackle of a town
now bounding into the spotlight

let me tell you about anxiety
about the bending extending
of my fingers
the inbound heatwave
at the front of my skull
the potentials that rattle
rainmaker until I hear my voice
telling my own voice off

let me tell you about the online world
the vanity that froths across the screen
strangers trying to be strangers
the illusions blow-dried primped
glazed over in a calorific gloss
or the pitter-patter of a criticism
that will unavoidably come
because it can
because this is how you open your mouth
when you can’t be seen

let me tell you about motivation
how it trickles like sand out of me
how it is steam on a windowpane
silvery and ready for me to play
but gone before the first curl of a word
is poured into place
I find naked envelopes everywhere
what is needed concealed under the bed
at the end of a lines-are-busy call

let me tell you about intimacy
to me an outline of a ghost
or an unidentifiable shape
like a face caught in a puddle
there goes a couple
in the first swirl of not-quite love
there are two teens
photographing the evidence
that they are a serious business
thank you very much
condoms instead of pick ‘n’ mix
holding a phone instead of holding a hand

let me tell you
this is how it is
or my version
different from your version
but the roots are the same roots
the premise about the same
do you have questions
It’s not a surprise and I told you
the numbers increase
then restart and you change
in increments

Oh if you don't stretch you'll rot
and if you don't talk you'll sink

what a predicament, a quandary
with that rainmaker sound
counting down to the final trickle
when you offer nothing that glows

there'll be faces drenched in confusion
and you'll taste the shadows
so familiar but like oil in the veins

give me that dynamite answer
stop the gurgle of decay
leaving you with a limp

let the responses pour forth
a fountain of spot-ons
or close enoughs

A little sleep
Then I wake

My friend Andy
Likes to bake

One today
Then I take

A little rest
Jordan Lake

Pope Francis
Not Francis Drake

Esta bien
The House does shake.

I love him
like I used to love
sunshine
despite being
a rainmaker.

I love him
like how dandelions bloom
only to be blown by winds.

I love him
that I forgot
how footsteps strike
straight to pain
when it sounds
like fading

and fading

and fading

See the harbinger of doom
see the  Ripper with scythes at ready
see the pro-claimer of dastard dirges
see the Rainmaker at joyful parade
see the twister of twist twisting away
see the Babylonian alchemist mixing miseries
to share with fellow convicts in their house of strays
see the ruler without a kingdom but rule from Armageddon
see the sad deranged replicant hyped up and ready in maladroit
see them who have become mere Cliché and useless pawns in neon's
see the joke of today, tomorrow, next week giving hemlocks to air

So he writes that the 3 best selling poets are
William Shakespeare
Lao Tzu
And Kahlil Gibran

A word on Lao Tzu
It would be cool
To fly away on a Dragon
After completing a book

The Tao De Ching
Is in my bathroom
I take a look

To be honest
Doesn't help me much
But I am willing to wait

Like when I was in San Francisco
Chinese broccoli
Dragon Gate

Red Pine
Rainmaker
8788

                      So I wait.

Rainmaker from Bruce
People sometimes need to believe so bad

But when people lose all faith
You get Trump: so sad.

Rainmaker, but not for hire:
Doin' it for free

Like Gandalf
Servant of the Secret Fire!

I was hardly thinking when I entered the acropolis
The windy roads talked of carefree days, I was to last
At last, my chance came in the talk of strangers in cinema pans and wave cuts
Interfaced, by the aversion to cloudy vision, I adjusted my glasses
Walking among others, could not be more perusing and anticipating
The dissipating dreariness was really smothering my look for a change
Yesteryears shifted by my tainted feeling of flighting writes, and unopened letters
The mailman checks my mail in the mailbox and the ordinariness of things
Committing to the vapid and the milk and closeted wine, in the shepherd's column
My hands were painted with writer's ink, the thoughts just kept flowing
In the rainmaker writer, it was a syllable of doubt and dough, that I was looking at a compensation or stay
The company wasn't hard to come by, the room was charged quarters
In the middle, there was a trapdoor and I felt drawn and quartered
Garrulous crowds talked of Garibaldi, Aristotle, and praise was the talk of the century
Mephistopheles has become somewhat of an errant symbol of a syllogism with your sins
One leads to the other, and follows the posterior, laying logos for following the argument
The argument is not something that writes in my journal, but, it crossed my mind, anyway.


Voracious readers, devoted people, and a couple of friends made my stay, a welcoming farm
Likewise, life's not picket-fences, gambling, drunkenness and staying alive
It's living life to it's fullest and appreciating each moment like it's your last class in life
At some point, philosophy can be unspeakably lame
Well, your ambitions are lame too, and women need to trample over
Just tramping a few, could get you shiny shoes in this American dream
We have divorced ourselves from the idea of nationalism, and I'm sure we make good citizens
I am not even sure why entered the acropolis, as it does not accept speakers like the colosseum
Crossing paths and circling winds were once where crossed swords in history
No, I'm in Rome and looking at the short nightcaps and scenic speakeasy, my mind is wasted on women
But, books and bookers and fantastic factotums who service my every need
Once, they used to shine my car, as I walked among Hollywood stars
Now, I live with my estranged wife and intermittent wives, who are feral and feline
I might even call some of the lithe, but, you're on my mind
Smelling the paint off some of them reminds me of your person laconic and pale
Some of these girls were rather beautiful, I must say, but, the heart was lost with you
Nursing your every need and caring for you, was the biggest burden
That I learned to cherish, and the love was unreal
It was fading like the wind catching me in those eyes
The first sight was love, and now I see you every day as a routine
In the hospice, hoping cancer doesn't spread in the acropolis
Polished ceilings and hovering over us are towering structures, and love is no object
Love is an ordeal, and it takes hard work and effort
These days in this short day in the life of the caring girl, the buildings, and the houses
Living in this city remains all dead, but, empty
Dying in this city remains all dead, but, dying seems more real with
As all this fame, is make-believe
This acropolis is mortal
You are immortal, busy leaving a good feeling
Which is something I can believe in, even through existential crises

He calls Red Pine credulous
Superstitious. A believer in foreign fables.
I listen to the lecture
Yes, I am intrigued

Rainmaker
Chungnan Mountains
Men ask the Way
Arrival need

Spirit houses
Coincidence
Mysteries
Mustard seeds

Fo Guang Shan
Shamanic trance
Camus in France
Quiet creed

      Tea Indeed