Incense thick with a scent that is true and a bit soiled and dense so dense I lift

Trees poke from the earth like the mummified hands of the martyrs. Buried alive, they strained with last breath

I wept at the sight of my guru’s picture, Praise God, He is always with me, a Holy thing,

A whole lifetime can go by simple and average, without change, misunderstood, or understood all too well—

Mowing with the sickle I stop abruptly and remember crawling out the window to smoke on the roof

Blameless is the working man Who can tell him, ‘put aside your drink!’ And what do I do but lay pavers?

It occurs to me now that no one hears my song. Still young, I am discarded. I don’t anticipate being surprised at my aloneness in old age.

Ancient meadow preadolescence, burgeoning and righteous never-ending dimension first sighted past your fingertips… is stolen by ambition,

As far as the eye can see— Limitless blue nowhere to be found.

The choir of the saints is heartle… They’ve parried happiness a lifeti… seeking the old earth, the marsh of the meek— where earnest suffering is woven w…

Are we in the field or on the field? When I soar for the disc I wonder how that cloud got its shape.

Every time I leave my parents’ ho… I am filled with a sweet sorrow. It has taken me half a lifetime to… and now I love them so dearly, so… They nor I are getting younger

Yes, it’s a famous song— “Unbroken Chain” by the Grateful Dead, a good band name as an aside,

Whether you’re preaching to the ch… or your words fall on deaf ears, just know you won’t swing a single vote.