tromping

listen.
all is quiet out here, except
for  faux haiku ocasionally tromping in.
(where are slippers for its syllables?)

not even damp

without breaking the water,
I swim the pond
of no shores.
my backstroke leaves
behind all senses.

remaining self,
not even damp.

barely a distinction

the kids go in and out the dog door.
there is barely a distinction.
in here, out there.
it could be raining, but it is not.
their coming and going has no barriers.
consciousness likewise.
all is coming and going.

simplicity that eludes..

I have to say, it seems much more clear, precise and direct to speak of ‘climbing the one pointed mountain of serene effort and stepping off into the void of pure namelessness’, or ‘to resolutely have your nervous system walk the rocky road through illusion until one is able to turn the brain’s listening-to-itself-ability into a watching-the-speaking-part-ability, form bare attention, and see into the process that imprisons you and keeps you believing you are asleep’.  Yet..and yet,  it is simplicity that eludes the net of reason and begs another type of invasive consideration…

everywhere pineness.
yet the maples take no offense.

mouth the words as if they were a last meal, and taste, no consequence. 
only some small nourishment be one’s tangible aim, however transient.

inflatable words

tweaking the riff raff of his allusions,
now he, nay, his pen is pumped.
thus to dive once more into those
inflatable words. ..
damn the torpid, full speed ahead.

pulling taunt

he takes the archers stance,
pulling taunt while relaxed,
aiming without looking,
releasing without letting go. 
he does not miss.
everywhere his arrow could possibly be, the target lives.

barely a question

to discriminate or not?
it’s barely a question.
naturally, it appears obvious
until you find your acumen
is mere bias,
and acceptance has swallowed your dictionary.
(to differentiate between self and other
is way too formal an affair…)

lunchbox

as you pack the world in your lunchbox,
use your tongue for tasting, and not
for describing your meal

felling

the cry of PENCIL!  preceded
the felling of tall considerations. 
they noisily landed on the paper,
crushing any previously residing there.

all possible nuance

all fall I have walked
my yard, observing all
possible nuance.
not once did I remember
the summer mowing.
coolness cools, and
erases.