A MOLECULE OF CHARIOTS

Where there is a design...

There is an eyeball...

A petty one...

One made by another one...

To which all speak of an immortal one...

Using words to describe no words...

The child moves to the mountain...

To cultivate his silence...

To silence the chariots that drive everywhere...

It is a large kingdom...

Infinite and unseen...

No longer is he satisfied...

Seeing only the outskirts and landscapes...

And in taking vows...

Every hair is cut...

The roots grow deeper...

In the ocean so soft...

A destroyer with creative hands...

Molding the land...

No observer...

No technique...

No leak in the ceiling...

The home remains perfect...

Going upwards to kiss grass...

Grass that kisses clouds...

And clouds that kiss a clear way...

For one and not all...

But for all a balanced molecule...

Broken while stranded together...

Making treasure out of the junk...

And drinking water from the moat, in the kingdom...

doM

GONE TO THE START

From the tail to the mouth...

Naked to clothed...

Buttons serve well on double-breasted overcoats...

But alone the possibilities are endless...

A tendency to be soft or hard...

Mothers lean towards discipline...

And the Father's demeanor is quiet...

Saying everything in the quiet...

After he speaks...

From marathon to olympics...

The suit is jettisoned and picked up again...

Feathers are everywhere...

A bird still performing functions...

Because love became obsolete...

The Lover did it again and again...

Pinky up on a tea cup...

For old times sake...

Long time lonely times...

Straining and purifying the herbs...

So that the tortoise may beat the hare...

While riding on that serpent...

No bigger than the spine of an ant...

Utter disgust for the book holding truth...

From the nothing, and into the bookshelf...

The student reads to learn...

Only to unlearn, learn and unlearn...

Touched by the words of the song...

He craves peace and clarity...

Perplexed...

He carries his ignorance back to the start...

doM

SONGS FROM THE HOUSE

There was a time when dance parties were enough...

Grace with no pressure...

Pressure with no constant...

A flower with no leaves...

Dried and ready...

I brought them to the house after work...

And a sneaky pluck of another's guitar...

The wedding photos also sing...

A melody...

Memories of the vows taken...

The do's and don'ts of a maintaining a happy home...

We keep the imperfections in the yard...

My children love cutting the lawn...

Watering the lavender patches..

And chasing butterflies that chase nothing...

Blowing fragments of grass...

The oxygen is so sweet...

Cheekbones and mouths fill with smiles...

Merely an overflowing water bucket...

Yes we all drink from the well...

It is a fresh drink...

For travelers that have no speakers at home...

For nomads that hear nothing but heartbeats...

Our home is open for all...

So come with me...

Sing while you sleep...

Dirty your feet...

Filthy your hands...

Make the bed, if you want...

doM