When I die I’ll come back on your screen
Matte and stylish, why not try sage green?
Sage is rather grey compared to grass.
I don’t worry, I let conflict pass.
Sage advice is wise, like ancient Greeks
Plato had no Prozac, he could speak.
So shall I draw on tablets as I age?
No pencil sharpener,rubber, no disgrace
It looks paper ,wonder how it feels?
Will it to the senses still appeal?
I think that in the end real papers best
Charcoal and a finger end the quest
Drawing with a stylus on the screen
Makes us think of what we might have been
With paper and some charcoal, pen and ink
The sensuousness of touch, the eye that winks
The false self is as real as any truth
Adapting to what’s needed, that’s its proof.
Always having time for someone else.
Never saving up for inner wealth.
Running to the door when someone knocks.
Keeping your own soul inside a box.
Living in our rhythm as does the sea
We guess that is the better way to beat
The frightening separation of the heart
Is just the proper place to make a start.
In the kitchen stirring strawberry jam
Is only one more away to fight the spam.
Cutting up the rhubarb into chunks.
Staring at the horse until it blinks
Snapping off the peas that sprawl in sun
Waiting for reality to come
I envy snails their shining shells sublime.
For mortgages are large, a human crime
.Alas the shell’s a fragile luttle house
On second thoughts I’d rather be a mouse.
I’d sleep inside your slipper by the bed
I’d go into the kitchen, look for bread.
If I became a cat,would Oscar mind?
I’ll check with him to find out his designs.
Yet going back to snails I do declare.
Evolution might lead to despair
Snails would be quite safe were they alone.
Human beings treat them like they’re stones
Into the void, the sightless foot can step
Bringing instant death, Christ Jesus wept.
How my heart sings 