I slipped this night. It seems a battle. Quite irrespective
of clout. I pause to sip. I see many demons. I flow at times. I see Jesus at
times. I have a problem at times. Love was reading and a tear fell. Love was
watching and Spirit listened. I was moving through traffic, on the 405, I could
see ghosts. Maybe veer left, doing ninety, flipping into a dungeon, a sore
undocumented thought, now in print. Don’t fret! I adore life, her aches, her
pains, her breakthroughs. To lament over perfection, to die a smidgen, to love
what turns in circles—to know Love might feel existence, to worry about mother’s
soul, to side with father, a problem in me. Upon a shoulder, on a glimpse, one
essence, if to know more about the God I worship. I slipped it seems. What have
I put into my lung bags? Nevertheless, the moon is gleeful, sunshine is
radiant, father is out of purgatory. I’ll admit it, automatic, each thought
vetted, serenity a myth, laughing—it hurt so good! I’m glad it took a rest—at moments,
the falls fall so clearly. Trying it seems. At distance—a myth. A person doesn’t
need to sit next to us to make a point.
