Morning on Grafton Hill

The motors and cars sing
Their morning ritual songs -
High ringing with low blasts
Trumpeting through the light fog

Henry Miller

The crackling of that
old Jew's voice
That ancient Jew,
speaking of his sex
and nightmares.
Another Buddha
come and gone.

Sitting in the morning
when sleeps has broken,
thoughts expand
like drops of milk
in a swirling pool

Sofia's confession

"It seams rare and strange
that I have only ever
been in love with you."
The words to me
but her eyes
in the fire.
"Why?" I asked.
I really wanted to know.
It didn't really seem that
strange to me, I mean.
The cookie just kinda crumbled
that way.
She paused for a long moment
and continued to analyze
the flames.
"I don't know" she finally said.
She was melancholy.
I was that way on certain
days too.
But today I was her
melancholy subject.
"How many people have you loved
before me?"
There it was.
"Sofia, listen to me -
I love you so much.
You're my women.
Let's go to bed."

Have respect for love
wherever it happens
whenever it happens.
It's when we hedonists
see God. 

I sit
in defiance of pain
and hopeful
acceptance of suffering.
I sit
and enjoy
sitting.

Fucked online

Thumbing through the internet
I shudder!
"Gee willakers! -
There's way to much
fucking TRUTH here!"

"It's like someone's putting
their finger in my
bellybutton and feeling
up my guts!"

I put my phone down
and pick up some
boring as books.

Love in yesterday

We used to
lay in bed together
naked
in the afternoon
There was more
sun then
and an oak
Squirrels would
chase each other
and sleep on
its branches.
Maybe I went
away.
Maybe you pretended
to.
Either way
we used to.