In the holiest of climes
where the trees to heaven climb
.. the sweet sweet rain
turns to sour juice of lime
...
Perhaps only a fool
or an ingrate
would critique God's
fall display of old.
...
The way to heaven
is not a stairway
but a slide.
Holiness is letting go..
...
Love is the food of the heart.
The more it flows uncircumscribed
to all creation, the more the soul
realizes he must stop eating
...
t was now July.
He had bought in December
an artificial Christmas tree.
It was festooned
...
Infidelity...
a sharp sword
whose blade never dulls
though it has pierced
...
Mirror mirror on the wall
Who is the ugliest of them all.
And the mirror replied:
'One who thinks ugliness
...