the persians had it right

wine, music, poetry

in the delusion

we take refuge

belief unshaken

 straight lines

are so so hard,

crook mine, i

with dented car, unkempt hair

self-deprecating 

is there hope 

 i love corporate jobs

if only for the steady stream

of stationery they 

supply

in exchange for 

soul

 there's something to be said 

for transcendentalism

while the beer's not yet run dry

there's something in Tengrism

while the eagle can still fly

Sky Father &  Earth Mother

Wonder & Joy

threads of spirit

in my soul

 i will awake, arise now

and move back in with my mother

there a cozy nest of comics make

 on the map

many lines

 exploring fingers of man's 

spread, quest

the land, the mother

becomes wife

dances, nurtures, 

suffers

 walt whitman 

is the debussy of poets

while, keats, and mozart

frown down 

upon me

 and he knew

in an instant

that those days were gone

and they smiled, and nodded, as friends

and went their way, 

again strangers

 In all of human histories, sidewaysness sits right at the centre of everything, while rhizome sits snug inside a bookshelf in a library

 alan watts passed through evanston, chicago, a long long time ago