Tip Toe Tip Toe past the crying girl at the dirty bar with the meter maid vibe and the dog catcher karma

And the god damned world at large where people live on a garbaged street pile and politicians sell Trump-flavored shit to big Pharma

Find find find please find a market where some soul is still living and principles are more valuable than the lies we hear

It may be found on a street corner bar where sorrow is met with the generosity of a nondescript kind stranger buying you a beer

Or a beach cove tent where waves pop loud in the middle of a thunderstorm of love making and passion

London London London public house with dark oak corners and a tattered copy of Dylan Thomas while sporting a late ’60’s fashion

Calling out the past in a sea of strangers and finding yourself alone with just you and your soul and its secret ways and means

In the middle of a hot summer baseball game when you don’t care they are losing and the flat warm beer tastes like an American Mark Twain dream

And once you find “it”, that “it” that is you, on a Dostoevsky page, or in a cold leaky tent in a wilderness area, or flat on your ass

Or a million other days or places or people- you want to explore more of “it” and when you are in one of those places not built of brass

You know that life is here and is so fleeting like a rain drop or a the way light reflects off a face as the ice cream cone disappears

And the day is a setting sun, a soulful sound of a long time spinning lost in the wind aging sphere