While folding the pages
of the life's book
page after page
in search of happiness
between the lines,
a period or a comma
might hinder the journey,
don't stop though,
the book's still open
your epitaph isn't written yet.

One hot spring day not many years past,
not so many as to have labeled me young,
but enough to have still been steady of pace
I grew restless within abode's walls
and set out on a quest.

So in my old truck I went
(Not my old red one, this one was gold)
down almost every type of road.
Hectic four lane highway, two lane blurry asphalt
through a few small towns
bypassing a sleepy southern city.
Finally a country road
which became gravel.
My kind of road.

I go to the store to get some Mountain Dew
Mom asks me if I’m high and i tell her I am through
But my Mountain Dew is ‘special’
And my drugs are confidential
And i don't want them to know the truth…
About my torn tattoos
That left a bruise
About my deep ass scares
I almost crashed my car,
I wasn’t that sober.
They ask me “why do you drink your only 13,
You shouldn’t drink you have a family,
But I’m a broken serial code
Only 4 numbers long, they’re unknown
And i'll bring to school my lean

A single tear wells
in the corner of an eye,

moves slowly down the cheek,
suspended there, takes light
like a magnificent diamond
before pursuing art to the floor

This tear, this water spot,
this tangible manifestation,
condensed from the intangible
and there to return

Snake trees inscribed
with lichen tales
trails that lead
to rosewood polished pools

The tangle-foot Fagus
falls from green to gold to red
here, are all the seasons
and rivers fed from way above

Currawong* scrapes his metallic song
along the rusted belt of sky
and through moss and scrub,
light on foot we fly

Bleached white trunks abound
an ancient rare trod ground
and the eyes of wombat holes
stare out the blinking earth

Benjamin Fondane : biography

November 14, 1898 - October 2, 1944
RIMBAUD LE VOYOU, ULYSSE AND INTELLECTUAL PROMINENCE

The tall oak tree stood on hill alone,
Each day the girl would visit,
This hill was home,

She would sit beside the large stone,
It was a comforting pillow,
She was no longer alone,

As she sat, she thought,
Her mind was a ticking bomb,

The oak tree had meaning & tears it brought,

She sobbed till she could no longer cry,
She surrendered to life,
What more could she try,

If the bees can’t sting
Within their wax
How can they attack outside?
If a snake can’t swallow a dead rat
What about a flying bat?
The lion has shed tears
When a rabbit intruded his territory.

A tilapia had been drank off the ocean
And the sharks are desperate
The hawk has taken away the food
From the eagle and flew freely.

Frustrated with the self,
the conclusion is put on the shelf;
decisions drive the mind insane,
the strain on the brain;
belligerent thoughts pound when they hit,
all of this is just bullshit;
feels like the head is going to explode,
hopelessness tries to slip in the mold;
the wish of being simple minded,
peace of mind? can never find it;
all of the worlds nations,
live in societies frustrations.

Good green light so I floor it. I have to get past the
few blocks of dark, abandoned buildings and
deserted streets that lead me to the highway
home.
After all I insisted to all " I would be okay. "
But from my beloved second home back in
the