The old cobbler

left behind a pair of shoes–

fame became their lot.

(Artwork by Vincent Van Gogh)

There is a holding

that patterns its assured grip

on a tender charge.

The reception

is terrible

up here.

Perhaps

when electricity

is invented

things will

become clearer?

Feed the trained monkey

powdered love and sugar pills–

No, he plays for fun.

When all is said and done

the horses will continue to run

in circles

under the sun

to the taffied delight

and unbridled glee

of children

who claim their rightful inheritance

of joy

by the simplest means

available.

Is the monkey mind

tethered to the man

or to the box

in which the man

keeps his thoughts locked?

Music plays,

as a tin cup rattles its petition for change,

and eveything continues,

as is.

Miller on his bike,

joy riding through the cosmos–

the lore of cycling.

(Photo: Henry Miller and his bike)

Withdrawal intends

its own wan truth and fading–

Twilight becomes her.

(Meshes of the Afternoon, Maya Deren, 1943)

Crafting from a wordless place,

the Sorcerer’s stones

became young girls trying to escape

the grip

of an audience

that preyed

on magic

and cinema.

(Image by Maya Deren)

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