Tossed

We have thrown
bottles of virtue
into an empty sea.

Glass melts
in the eye of the Sun,
and the daughter of Water
crafts a window of wonder.

Does beauty reside in truth,
when the Sun gives
all the Sea to the Air,
and the Daughter’s hands
become the soil of the Earth?

Emptiness becomes…

In giving,
In seeing,
In loving,

From the eye, from the hand,
and in the message of a bottle,
that slowly seeps out,

Into and from…

Virtuous souls somewhere.

Yellow Garbage Bag

Are you a man of the cloth, or
a women of the crown?

The water you find a heart in,
is the one you stand above.

Cutting your own so others can bleed?
How dare-full.

Selfishness is the best liar, and
your shaking hands with the enemy.

Liars bleed from their own knives.

Immunization is dead;
but I can hand you a yellow garbage bag.

Soul Land

Hands slash down the forest.
If you have two legs you’re guilty.

Roots tear.

Dirt flies.

The rain pours down; flash flooding is inevitable.

Your souls collect in the mucky sewage water; you don’t smell the stench.

‘Is one to be one’

The crows love your souls.
They deposit you like seeds in droppings on new land; the wasted land.

Roots grow in the compost.

‘Please don’t be the walking dead’

Scales tip in the sunshine.

One side lives.
One side dies.

This is our land.

Gringo’s Present

White words sit on butterfly wings;
dazzling and distraught.

History on playback;
pain on records repeat.

The Raven laughs as your wings crunch beneath his claws.
He snacks on your words and spits them out into the present.

A changed man you are.

Smack dab in the middle of today.

The Raven smiles,
turns his head,
and flies away.