Pines under the moon
wind felling silver needles
the birds are asleep

With all its movement
the ocean roaring and white
is always resting

Let's all run
feet bare on rocks
hot from the sun

down to the river valley
rich and wet with green-leaf light
dust-red hovering

Let us sing the water
into reversal
up the mountain
and follow it there

Let us sit and sigh
the sky permitting
lit up like open starscapes

Entropy is Ecstasy
a state of selflessness
in which
homogeneity is once more realized.

Osho said, "When the shoe fits, the foot is forgotten"

I should have told her bout the colors that I saw before.
The onces they fell out from my eyes
and spilt across the floor.

I should have told her when she asked me, dared me to explore
the reaching roots of time and sooth;
the seed, the growth, the spore.

There is fear in the allure.

The moon is on the rise;

no near for far, i'm sure

What came first, the subject or the predicate?
"I am."
The shortest sentence.
Why can't I just forget it yet?

Both It and I meant for this
(the that which made this way).
Both It and I sent this self to blossoms and decay.

Relentless,
the fray.