You Don't Live On The Earth, You

You Have Escaped The Cage. Your Wings Are Stretched Out. Now Fly.

He Has Afflicted You From Every Direction In Order To Pull You Back To The Directionless.

Seek Passion, Seek Passion, Seek Passion!

Poems Reach Up Like Spindrift And The Edge Of Driftwood Along The Beach, Wanting! They Derive From A Slow And Powerful Root That We Can’t See. Stop The Words Now. Open The Window In The Center Of Your Chest, And Let The Spirits Fly In And Out.

Poems Are Rough Notations For The Music We Are.