Fortress of Beans

You may not understand it, I certainly don't sometimes. You may not give a flute. But I do. You may feel your time abused. And I like time. But if I just stop for a second and back out of my corner of cheerios on the floor, there's something else there. Stark as day. Though brushed under the weight of all those barrels and your own hand on the door.

God answered my prayers. Simple as that.

I see it.       I see it and I can't help but be thankful.

Two Months and Two Days

I read it again. Forgotten how good it was. Near perfect actually. Impressively so. (sigh) And a chancy more open. More like you say. That. That is what I want. And I think you. The streets may be dark but there is something still there. Still waiting. Still.   I breathe again. sweet and cool. Not to chill, no. Soothe. And that is what is different. So. Very. Different.    And I love it.

A fault?      Possibly.       Hopefully not       ...in every sense of that word. Alone. But together never so. Not remotely.         Light at the end of the alley? Sure. But only if it's a street lamp. I prefer the black you see, all mud but the lines all clean.

A day after. And still nearly four years. Quite unlike the one. A moon? Possibly then. And now. Wane ending. Don't blow it out. Not a fool's errand. Just a chance. Wrongs right. Suches we could very well use. Edged out? Well, if so it shanty come to blows. There's still only one voice. That one that looks 'neath the bushes.

Jiggity Jig

Not sure whether it's true or not. Not that I've been told.

I'm hoping. Accustomed and yet untrusting. At times. Wind and rain. Bringing with it life. And happiness. But there is gold in the drought. And when the light hits it just right it can there be seen. Everything it seems is lighting. How to bring it? How to produce it? Wait. Smoke and mirrors and sounding brass. You know what it is but forget what it is not. A fortnight?      yeah I suppose. But never a day. Not one day. Pushing on that rock. Never moving but still giving to exhaustion, which, shall be say comes easy these days. Betimes.

A Scot.

And really,       really quite different.

Mr. Potter

 Confound it indeed! It shouldn't be that hard. No reason whatsoever! But it kills. Slowly. Just across the bridge. No, closer. Up and over the wall. Canaan. No, better. Just out of reach. No closer. Waiting only for the gate to be released. But it isn't Mr. Burns on the buzzer. And it isn't midnight. It isn't too late. There is still time. But somehow there isn't anything helping in this two buck world. Yes, somehow. Just over down the ridge. Green.

Green.

It is strange isn't it?

Jonah

...and all that water...