I like to wait in a space for a long time
because the sights and sounds and smells
of something unfamiliar
is impossible to savor
without being present.
A fine wine
must be breathed
must be lived.
The blood of life circulates within me
like the wind, moving through the trees.
I find myself getting drunk, most of the time
or not wanting to drink at all.
We drink the same wine, until it’s like water
We demand a miracle
We whine about it
like a pig, drinking from the slaughter.
How many of us
to follow a predictable path
sold at market?
We have to sell ourselves
to please other people, compare ourselves
to feel better
about who we are
and the price we pay, is always the same
We lose ourselves,
trying to get what we don’t need.
Pound for Pound
we are worth more
than a part of us
sold at auction.
What is right in front of us?
a dream, without desire
and the heavenly places.