A lone vulture circled carrion now quiet along a lost desert road. Carmen played her guitar singing a lugubrious song of desperate lone lands where blue sage grew for my Shaman’s magical wands. She cannot strum. Wind does not blow. Rain does not come. Rivers can’t flow. Tarantulas silent under their rock for cool. The vulture had long ago left. The blue bus was leaving. Carmen finished her song.
FIrst of all, I wear a mask in public not for me but for YOU.
I am educated enough to realize I may be asymptomatic and could give YOU the virus. I don’t “live in fear of the virus”; I just want to be part of the solution and not the problem. I don’t feel “the government is controlling me”; I simply feel I am a contributing adult to the community at large. The world does not revolve around me and it’s not about my comfort wearing a mask which I have found not to be at all uncomfortable, even with me having asthma. If we could all live with respect for others, it would be a better world. Wearing a mask does not make me weak, scared, stupid or controlled, it makes me considerate.
reboot my mind —— it crashed yesterday with a cosmic overload entering as a black LED light into my cloistered life uninvited without warning.
Raven flew along beside the one eyed man. Raven asked, “Why is there is something rather than nothing?” “Define something,” said the man. “Substance.” “Define substance,” said the man. “Reality.” “Define reality,” said the man. “Exactly.” "What's exact?" asked the man. “Graaaaack,” said Raven.
Driving through a song on AM radio like I was in Biloxi fifty years ago or in 1950 Mexico with Jack and Allen writing sad stories and verse with no end. Reminiscing about past lives and songs is only a lie laughing at me wrong, like being lost in a poem of war. Dark children die in ocean’s roar. We all have less than the moment before, this no end temporary terminal time core, only sad existence is white noise. Commiserate over some dying rose. Voldemort rides the golden lift’s last breath. TV talking heads worry about someone’s beaded dress. Planets do not align with raven’s flight. Coyote hides in a dry desert night.
Cherry, peach, apple, pear, and plum, all blossoms do they come, only to snow upon the ground, falling without a sound. The beauty of spring comes on slow sometimes too quick to go. Blossom’s beauty lost in the wind to my soul’s sad chagrin. April May green come and remain, bide for flowers to stain gardens and parks beauty refreshed bring color ’til fall’s rest.
Like two empty canoes we floated through narrow canyons of lost time oblivious of tall mountains hovering like dark foreboding giants waiting to pounce upon our reverie. But cold piercing rain came closing our solitude of memories replaced by a barren abandoned road wrinkled in empty time devoid of life but for sharp lightening filled unknown skies crashing down around us.