My colleague wants the Art of Zen, in French of course Translated from Japanese…I suppose, for they started it. But she wants it from the
In earnest beyond the Pings and Bongs of firearms And call to live your life on the ground with raised arms I see one dying
I wave my blistered hand before my bleeding face, Waving gunpowder smoke and blood fumes in the mist To see the survivors, to see hope.
Can you describe a baby’s smile? Let me try: A breath of fresh air while the sewage tanks are drained; That momentary silence when gunshots
The soft wind combed her silken hair, She stood there Looking at me; a mere mortal she saw Looking at her shawl. I saw the
What happens when karma turns right around? What’s clapping to demagogues’ speeches as they mount Lie on lie, Promising Sugar Candy mountains, Each word thought