He will, I trust, be less confused
by his companions.
Their gentleness will match his own.
Tag Archives: poetry
They made a boulevard through my midday woods
Whacked the weeds,
chopped the trees.
I don’t like it.
Why do we ask why?
Because something in being
cries out to make sense
Sometimes a spirit
Likes to play dead
Hang on to that mental health, folks!
It’s nice to have
A doom hanging
That is no doom.
Just an orange
ready to drop
Knowing, God, would
Really be good.
The way, or at least
the people to ask.
Ocean child
When I saw that I understood
that he spoke to you alone
but I didn’t understand
much else
Ghost Train
Slows
Stops
Waits
Leaves
Futility
Managing the world of perceptions
Utrecht Journal 