“In a room where
people unanimously maintain
a conspiracy of silence,
one word of truth
sounds like a pistol shot.”
Falling asleep, I ponder the mysteries of life.
Sometimes the answers that give life are simple.
Sometimes they are complex.
Therefore, I don’t think answers are dependent upon any predetermined formula, but honesty or lack thereof, of the persons involved.
As I awake in the morning, I slowly become aware I’m still silently conversing with Dad, the characteristic cadence of his voice (speak and pause, speak and pause) not just apparent, but emphasized in this semi-dream-like state.
I can feel his presence, with my mind.
But it’s as if my father’s pauses are now purposely lengthened and multiplied, to give me time to write everything down.
Another colleague of mine
caught me off guard
when he said
the (puss?) (!) is in the pudding
It’s different with men
We won’t regret later
who gathered up roses
where did you get those
basking in the sun
of personal indifference
After the sun
comes the soul
Flying on a plane
who does know pain?
speed is everything
(fast internet logo?)
how did the bullet
get here so quickly
caught up in different events
looking back on the remarks I’ve made
any well trips
well spent
Can it go fast enough
Flew in by helicopter
to the post
Let me outa here
said the watchman
drinking whiskey
like a shot in the dark
Child abuse is real
its after effects remain forever
unless GOD takes them away
like a man on a plane
Simple recipes do not taste right
to the abusers
See how they run
Indifference is the miter’s
(tall headdress worn by a bishop)
ghost
like whole villages swallowed up
in the rain
It’s victim, the forfeiter
Unraveled and the Birth of Joy 