Monday, June 5, 2017

waste.

maybe i do not see god
as i expect myself to
today,

my relationship with the trees
frustrates me. it mirrors

myself the wall
that is the only thing i know.

the face of god changes even
into those whose medicine
i overlook:

i do not escape waste, not
this time;

succumb to being
a belonging. this too shall get something to begin.

when the sun comes up
all reveals itself as illusory.