EMPTY BAG OF FOOD

The grassy areas of the park...

Filled with those eager for a picnic...

The flesh of the illusion...

And the potter's clay

They make the sunshine real...

A warmth only truly known by intellect...

The soft touch of a wife's hand...

It brings a sweet smile to her lover...

Her husband approves...

As he is the base element...

A sheet between their skin and the Earth...

Enough food for everyone...

Sport for the child...

And no defined game...

With no shoelaces or belts for the prisoner...

He eats from an empty bag...

Eventually finding food...

Sweeter than the soil of figs...

Nourished with answers...

An oracle in the senses...

All is told...

The tongue never moves...

Except for fermented grapes...

Timely season...

Perfect region...

Stainless cuts of fresh cheese...

Nibbling gently under trees of stillness...

Everything became new...

So says the shape-shifting ancestor...

Born from the womb of tree bark...

doM

MY GRAY HAIR

The disc jockey played...

He vibrated sweet studio one sounds...

In that moment...

It was Jamaica I tasted...

Rocking and moving...

Eyes half closed...

The red wine made love to my saliva...

I reminisced on those that have come and gone...

The room was provocative...

Mixed cultures, Luscious lips...

Long dreadlocks, wholesome breasts...

The continual spats of flirting...

And of course the wine...

But the Drunken Master is always aware...

Rice wine was never too sweet...

To break his concentration...

To break his grip...

To break his meditation...

But all was loose for the night...

God retired for the evening...

He let me out to play...

He took rest on my behalf...

Yet together our organs sang sweet melodies...

Entertaining thoughts of cigars...

And seersucker suits...

I stand to watch my horse cross the finish line...

In my immutable seat...

The body sings and dances...

It plays with precious care...

A love that no longer be defined...

Like hands on her thighs...

I stroked my gray hair...

doM

DIGESTION

Chew it up...

Nourish it with saliva...

Swallow it with enjoyment...

And out of the anus for purification...

Tis the nature of all things eaten...

Food and media...

Ignorance and knowledge...

All can be digested...

But will it be digested...

Will it create acid...

Will it create laughter...

Will it create joy and peace...

Will it create pain and suffering...

Will it destroy a creation...

Will it create a destruction...

Or maybe an illusion...

One of birth and death...

One of drugs and alcohol...

One of violence and sex...

Or maybe an illusion of knowledge and bliss...

Digesting books and teachings...

Seeing light and dark...

How many eyes are needed to see nothingness...

How many more projections must be digested...

The crumbs of bread...

An Ocean of Life...

A bark of cinnamon...

A strip of sugar cane...

All a voyeur's delight...

Use your tongue and play with it...

These illusory words...

Digest what you wish...

It becomes flesh...

doM