selfish genes

my mom planted lettuce last summer. her first crop and we got to harvest the most magnificent salads from september till december.
\her seed pods grew as they do and she had not collected and saved them so now there are lettuci pushing up through the bricks of her back yard and life has taken over
life will entropically...what the fuck are we doing messing with things


food not lawns!
om yum
xoxo

i just had to write something so i dont feel worthless

something.

jake josef

how would i do justice with your story, jake josef,
your borrowed bicycle, blue like your bruises;
your dimpled cheeks afraid to smile out of the hollow space you have chosen.
you understand your freedom, wise anarchist,
and your remind me of the possibilities of oscillation.
i need to stay with you only a moment --
your swirling whiskeyed minds reads things differently
from my momentary brilliance.
how you can see that this is simply a report of the seconds.
you wrote this, jake josef

Shefa Gold; Chochmat HaLev

the bus so yellow -
a momentous reconnecting to a reality we are creating.
who is today? besides you in your cryptic annunciation:
living out of the question without needing to answer it
the word opens up a moment to moment mystery with the beloved
where there is permission, growth and therefore creativity.
there is importance to heal what is hidden,
asleep,
that is not able to be used to mend.
to be wise in love is to understand the timing.

human extraordinaire spirit james

a wave from the middle of a green man street
you were shakti

a line of this of that, velvet and crystal
you were smiling

i stopped because everything else stopped
you were obliging

hesse, the dead, purple
you were sharing

and then my memory and some words
you were guiding

labelled as a list of wonder talents
you were boasting

newspaper and flowers, coloring the city
you were loving

project: walking with the gods

concept: still to evolve somewhat. peace of art created from a spontaneous or sort out divine interaction every day. sharing sparks. mending. always laughing.

Afanasi, Roert Smyth, Steve

each has a name. it started on the steps.
in another universe. with no dawn coming.
then breakfast and a class to get to
on the ferry building clock's chime.
it was the orchid that kept me
and your photograph that drew me
and your voice of devil talk and peace possibility
and almonds, blue eyes, balloons
and rainbows
arching into the perfect crevice of being fed.
i kept making decisions of where to take us
they were perfect and seaweed sweet.
it felt purposeful like jasmine memories
and i stay out for as long as the day will have me
nothing ends as sweetly as it could than with a chai
steamed and rich
in a hostel selling peace
specificity brings untwinging attention
and tonight will be a night unlike any other

THE CITY

i am sitting through the window
and the world repeats itself
bus eight passing every six minutes
as i unfold -- evolve -- slowly


THE FOREST

i am sitting on the wooden porch
and the world dances itself
the rooster calls every six minutes
as we unfold -- evolve -- slowly