spine of the notebook

the traveling night-
i think of nothing
but laugh
at the thought of it.

listen!
there are no words
in my Mind
but as the ink goes down
they appear.

i look: watercup,
i tried to paint with wine
last night
and achieved a subtle shade
i declared Skin

i ask myself to think
but only watch the sky
loose its daylight lifetime.
i sink with a sleepy feeling
of growth behind my eyes.

what do i choose to do?
i move the canvas and put my legs up.
i recline.
and wonder,
what's going on in there.

the traveling night has soul
i toke a flowered smoke:
i deem it completely worthwhile
for its given me
that line.

what else is there?

i live in a sacred place
though sometimes
real people
take the spiritual away.

i am sure that when they are at peace
they are holy.

Now thoughts enter me.
it is getting progressively difficult
for my hand to move