Archive for all the stuff I call poems that I have written over the last 30 years and that I still continue to write, oblivious to the fact that they might be little more than doggawn atrocious in the eyes of those who might not know how to generate within themselves the bliss invisible.
Tuesday, 28 December 2010
Temple
deity feet serenity stills the inner shrine, holy water ladled out by hair cropped priests drunk and brushed back on bowing heads as people push an’ shove to stay in line, shadowed by eternity the mystery is sweet
