spirit

pursue the money
chasing the glittering stones.
and leave life behind.

the high flying bird
surveys the green buffet fields.
the world full of snacks.

pink doll in onesie.
how’s something so small so real?
from an eve to skye.

pancakes of troubles
choking the mouth of my day.
just getting started.

the moment is a fleeting buzzard.
i cannot steady upon its wings.

and my mind a mercurial child
flitting from this to that.

if only this and that were one and the same.
the now of the tao and buddha’s fame.

instead i trip into the future
stumbling to grasp at the past.

when all i ever had was ever now
all that never was always in tow.

doth bird on wing travel in space or time?
do i hear the chime now or then?

a sack of flesh carries the buoy of my soul
and the churning sea both space and time.

oh worried is me o’er the ships i see
for the night is dark and day yet begun.

if only to freeze these moments and pluck them free
carry them wherever this journey leadeth me.

but space is nothingness and time its never reached horizon
but this bobbing buoy that seems like me
is it just the dream of an eternity?

but the heart counts the days with ragged teeth
in my soft thin soul that lies underneath.

and that which is ethereal is very real to me
and my plaintive plea on my bended knee
struggling to be free of the wounded me
and embrace the unknowing eternity
and just to sit, or walk and just be.

like the flower that cares less for the bumblebee.

six weeks a long time
that comes and goes in a flash.
our rubbery time.