i stare at my face in the mirror,
and count with the heavy rhythm
of the clock... moment by moment...
every feeling, born and unborn,
...
i'll be around...
in the wind that rustles your curtains,
in the whisper of darkness that taunts the moonlight.
in the silence that roars, and is then still...
...
old washed up six-gun poets,
legs bent from riding horses,
backs bent from laying track.
faces lined with wrinkles bearing chapters,
...
lover then, must we always be strangers?
two books that smell the same,
and feel the same...
lost on different shelves?
...
i have labored for a thousand years
to build the ark that rides out
the storm...
to bring peace to a war torn earth,
...
a buddha...
or just another homeless man,
standing on the corner
of the street going nowhere.
...
i am, become...
i am the stillness of the mountains,
and the whisperings of the grasses.
i am the kiss of the river,
...
you speak of looking for God...
my child, God is not lost!
it is we who are lost....
before we can find God...
...
if you are created
in God's image...
i'm not sure i like your God!
or at the very least,
...
when you can look
in the mirror,
and see your self naked
without running like hell...
...