the cyclone masks
the stillness of the smoke
filling the still soul
inhaling the still eternity

they fight to make me move
while they themselves stop moving

while the air twists around to hide
their faces looking into mine

I write to move
while they see my body still like death

everyone hates my laziness
while my poems are published
but I show no one my books

all day I hide
but they know at night
I ride the moon
that falls into my mind
they do not know

that my death in this world
keeps me alive in another world

where the Braille of the soul
and the bones that sweep like brooms
move in my spirit to find words

I've had to sacrifice
even I hate what I do

my ink not cheap
as my blood has stop flowing

as I embrace
what gods embrace

faith in the eyes of the void
as I pray with the poem

and god
answers with my imagination

and truth


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very nice writing jim