Someone Who Does Not Run Toward The

Don’t Knock On Any Random Door Like A Beggar. Reach Your Long Hand Out To Another Door, Beyond Where You Go On The Street, The Street Where Everyone Says, "how Are You?" And No One Says How Aren’t You?

Brother, Stand The Pain. Escape The Poison Of Your Impulses. The Sky Will Bow To Your Beauty, If You Do. Learn To Light The Candle. Rise With The Sun. Turn Away From The Cave Of Your Sleeping. That Way A Thorn Expands To A Rose.

We've Given Up Making A Living, Its All This Crazy Love Poetry Now!

My Souls Sits In Silence, And Then Asks Again, Where Are You In All Of This?

Your Hand Opens And Closes, Opens And Closes. If It Were Always A Fist Or Always Stretched Open, You Would Be Paralysed. Your Deepest Presence Is In Every Small Contracting And Expanding, The Two As Beautifully Balanced And Coordinated As Birds' Wings.