"rta" poems
I’m not quite sure, yet everything I do
appears to me as being viciously half-assed
yet sincere.
I write this mid-winter [I guess?] on the RTA
with twenty dollars on me and I don’t want to know
in the bank, with cold feet, both literally and metaphorically.
The future looks decent from a distance in bar light.
As I feign some resemblance of being classy and
collect more sodium on my footwear,
I ponder the passing of an officer who flashed a light
to look at me in the dark on my way from home.
It makes me glad I speak English, where there
are such hard, sharp and unsympathetic undertones
to phrases like, **** off”.
It’s dark on the way through Cleveland.
Try to stay warm.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 6:22 PM UTC
Dharmma
Do your duty
Uphold the universe
Without active participants
rta Falls, the Sun no longer shines
and the social no longer measures the cycle
of the seasons. What is appropriate in the face of
infinity?
One cannot live
the dharmma of others.
Only to the order of Sva-dharmma.
Demons are just as necessary as Saints, they just teach different lessons.
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 1:17 PM UTC