CONFESSION ZERO

( Neal Potter Design ) The eartH, the wind, the water, the tree, the sky and mountain, speak the only truth I know... The eartH is my living room, the wind is my ceiling fan, the water is salvation, the tree, a borrowed lung, the sky, a museum of art, the mountain, a fortress. I am most fortunate to not have been expelled from life’s dwelling. Just how much more time should I allow to pass before the obvious begins to shape my spine into sandstone, my love into ragged canvases painted with the things I no longer breathe? The eartH, the wind, the water, the tree, the sky and mountain speak the only truth I know… © 2011 by mark prime

( Mayfly by Bob ) Every child upon the earth feels with their spirit, mothers tell them to stay by their side, there’s less panic in proximity. They’ll learn that they cannot remain when the wind calls out to them, lifting their feet in freedom, fluttering their briefness like mayflies. They love, yet do not understand that Love is a lifelong journey that expands only after all of their suspicions sleep. Their small hands hold my sleeves as I weep for my own youth’s span that suffocated from a lifeless tongue. A thousand gallons of flesh and blood still pours over the soil as testimony, as marker for my loveless obedience. The half-love I taught only hobbled, it didn't dance or soar with charity until, from back to front, it was unwritten. I cannot bring them around with war, with anything that teaches separation. What on earth made me think I could? The scenes of battle, real or imagined, steep my familiar sleeves in blood and mask innocence with casualty. Ho