Friday, July 15, 2011

The Everpresent Salt Of Now

My first assignment was counting rain drops. Next I walked a thousand beaches. Smashed plums, dragon flies and a funny story about fish hooks.

Decrepit rose bush, its littered petals. We had to move the swingset to make room for the horse. I sat beneath the willow tree, drinking coffee and reminiscing with the holy spirit.

Up north are eskimos and meals revolve around sea fat. In summer we don't touch while sleeping, on account of how hot it is. Well, sometimes.

The man without shoes takes up spirituality. Vintage Christmas ornaments. The tale worth telling is always right in front of you.

What do you mean by a 'New England way of seeing?' There's a hole in the gutter. Pabst Blue Ribbon in both dreams.

Years ago when we were still at play there was talk of opening a restaurant. Study God the way you'd study a menu. Is this the first time we've met?

For the everpresent salt of now I fall to my knees to utter. As always, resistance was never the point.

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