Barry McKinnon

scribble -

the self centred - a latitude
	near paradise


but my life, off - expectaion

to accept fate
my own rhetoric wanting the moment contained in the axe blow 
in clear air - to never argue

against thing seen pure and of itself.  the bird in the tree,
wary of the feeder/ chickadee or bird of what season

what strange wishes, like an alien voice that
is your self, stronger than the body or will

what can we do but be.

The East Village Poetry Web