Here be musings

living, noteworthy, rhymes and rhythm, travel


Thoughts lying on a couch, in Argentina. My diary records me.


Spy those legs that weave around the table,

teaching me, as I forget

your name, it’s your name, and I forget it.

With new turns I do remember

Reading always means existing

long forgotten, never learned

But learning is recording, that is all

that is all.


My learning is a constant

and submits to massive failures

yet same constant is my freedom

it’s my burden and I’ll keep it

For the beauty on its table

under darkness, in the stable

left for loneliness the token

Fine-tuned journey, wisened teacher.

And the preacher near the doorway

tells me I have not yet spoken;

but I’m screaming

and I’m deeming him to be deceitful,


Then the silence in the slumber

of my waking world assaults me,

for there’s truth in what the preacher

prays to tell me for his part.

I have not yet known the netting

that protects me from my neighbours,

a perversely porous bubble

brewing trouble in my heart.

So I thank the man and take my toil

tangled in tomorrow,

to enjoy the jousting justified

by jaded faded means.

Meander in the mires but

remember mighty focus;

that we travel tasting all

the tainted tethers of latrines.





Iguacu the Mighty




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