David took us on a journey into the soul of man. I say man as just that not a specific epithet. He probed into the heart of darkness and came out purer for the challenge. In this universality the hearts of men have not changed. Only the woods and the pond on which we build our shack.
Mine was the temple of family and personal escape. But as did my new england guru I found myself in the wreckage of my life. I was motionless lying in the smoldering pieces. Delusional and misguided wanderlust of soulsore. The soil of this existance is eroded exposing bedrock of foundation.
Foundation - home memories past lives that are dead and gone. But the Tejano rooster still crows in the oranges. And the thump of unbalanced coolers spin without time or use for it.
Love lives between the lichen and the stone. Moss dies and blows away.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment