Integral

Art by Paolo Ceric

All were in their proper place–
The hedonists on the slippery slope
The proud upon hearths of their own function
The saints in the silent center of the sequence–
When the world ended, its perfect pied way Read More

Through These Words

Max Meunier

you will see
my pain

the endless hours spent

the triumph
of this misery

in a momentary squander

you may wander
through the pages torn

and wonder
how i speak your truth

the one
stayed by a stinging tongue

layered ‘neath a stolen sun
abeyant

at times
we will laugh together

rain may fall
on distant ground

and the secret
guarded smile
will have vanished
left untold

on the cusp
of thought symphonic
on the path
of parting stream

though we understand
the story

who we are
remains unseen

mystery becomes our warden
through these words
of sought reprieve

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Cobbling

Photo by Beorn DuPont

Breakfast beating at the hunger hour. The cobbler ate clams and drank Meritage, and Charlie from California called us all ‘homies’ while the phones kept buzzing. Bzzz, and Tim with his mandolin and Levon with his grooving views on duty and Dao while the ball of sun-dried tomato/basil whipped butter sat there wuwei… They were billy goats gruff and I coveted their lack of sensibilities. Merv, that ancient free spirit of a shoemaker, wandered town as a troll at SnowDown and asked around about “them hill-billies.”  Read More