The traffic roars like death, the wind jumps over the trash truck. Me? I'm wondering how many trucks it would take if love decided to haul away the suffering? Think of it as a lesson in recognizing where you are, and then, who you've become- nothing more than inconsequential and a fearful little beast that believes rather than learns, headlong instead of swerves. Trace the steps back that you might see your burden is fitting, given the way you've loved the earth… Ironically enough, my use of her has tipped the scales in Love’s favor. This requires a drum! Without the drum, the rhythm of the heart would be without its music’s reassurance thrumming in the silence of everyone, every crowd, every tragically alone, every surrounded affection that’s deserved for a job well done. It’s a dream you’re having. Remember? No. Remember where you are? Yes. (ping) ~ My duty has all but disappeared and nearer to a reckoning like no other. This is heavenly earth, paradi
(The Weaver's Song)