Blank as the word, black as the heart.

Who said that?

To exist as nothing                                                                                  Mandala

To find invisibility

The rest is ego and cheap goods.                                                                                     Spectre

Crows scrape across the first light                                  Nucleus

Winter echoes, frozen air

Delivering books to your door, flop, in they come                                                                    Scripted

Yum. Not serious but playful. We do our yoga; are nice to the children.

 Hope that they will have  happy lives.

Not scarred by self-destructive natures, resentful and angry. But enlightened.

Enough to care about you in our old age.

After enduring so much life what’s next? 

A snowstorm would be nice. Then we could wrap ourselves up; pretend we are living inside one of those plastic globes; shaken up but alright. Slowly the speckles descend.

Didn’t drink last night or the night before; might not drink tonight. This week, sobriety is intoxicating.