i think of life as food-
when young,fast and furious
stuffing as many FIRSTS into seconds
middle aged,minutes flash by faster
aged,the tick of extinction(impending
book of grand father clocks
you remember most/those holy moments
when attention is focused/stories bloom forth
like flowers from a garden of people
who reach out like the dying to be heard
i eat these stories.Once i paid folk on 6th street
to lie to me,so i could see if i could distinguish lie from truth
I still cannot.So when you spin dervish dancer-it is the flower of your smiling
that most attracts this bee to amber.
Ear to the ground.Eye through a keyhole.Nose to the wheel.Listening/witnessing
is what opens doorways to another/bridging lives in moments islands
They say an onion has many layers-just like people/their stories
are parables/fables/animating our shadow play
until we are both audience and actor,writing our scripts-
improvising olde nights,dreaming new days.
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