Innocence in the heart without harm to itself or anyone else
Can be cast into confusion and turmoil as it walks the streets of experience.
Prehistoric predators can’t help themselves —DNA continues in undeveloped self.
They eat green leaf eaters expelling them to the soil for resurrection.
—Eventually predators eat themselves; caught in a bad diet and in a false argument.
Never looking down the street’s —of the in between alleys,
—innocence, never understanding, drifts pass them, in wisdom.
I do have some literary Masters renting space in my head.
But, as the landlord, I express my thoughts —with the acceptance of their rent.
So far, they haven’t complained about how their money is spent.
The brook that never freezes
flows from my winter heart into spring.
It never ceases to bring me new and warm summer things.
I feel like having a hot dog on a stick
roasting over a Hermit Island campfire,
watching the glowing flickering flames
send sparkles above the tide—
rising beyond the moon.