A Strange Type

On the bluff this morning
Breakfast is served
Raven circle
And make rough music

A strange type
Who sits above a busy town
Eating potatoes
Running from God

Running to God

Elephant eons parade
Down infinity road
This day is a speck of dust
Floating to oblivion

Humanity makes me think of a wheat-field
Go ahead, grow tall
But never forget the harvest
When your fruit will be tossed in with all the others'

Just another grain in God's bread

A strange type,
Who plugs poetry into ether
Talking to himself
Running from God

Running to God

On the way to Mendenhall lll

Thicker than water,

Depth from cold breath, and simple neat breadth beneath feet, and snowy steps, a frozen creek.

Crunch, scrunch,

Loud, white, words, when you are alone the world breathes with you, and your soul is airborne,

Trees, stillness, snow, stillness, moving water, stillness, physically these things are pieces of your mind, pieces of a gold mine, pieces of sublime, pieces, pieces, pieces

Pieces of a bigger picture, pieces of the simplest existence fixture, the ultimate tincture, concentrated until, expanded, exploded, up, down, around, lost and... found

re-found, by a creek and white voices that speak beneath feet, deep.