write.
write.
write my desert father speaks to me.
your pen has been placed up on the shelf for too long.
speak.
let your hand ache & tension release.
give words to thoughts.
wash into the basin of sensuality.
speak of the sensations that you experience when you are with me.
watch the chickadee rest on the barbed wire and tell of his peace.
watch the monarch sample, drink, gulp sweet necter and tell of her gratitude.
listen to the racing river pass by with the deception of motionless tranquility.
she will sedate you and then devour you if you're not aware.
so she tells me to write off time spent senselessly in masked productivity.
listen and write stories of others misgivings, questions and polite regards.
happenings.
fears.
laughter.

write.
write.
write my desert father speaks to me.
grab the excess weight at your side and cut ties to the binding twine.
let your feet rest, propped up and know that what everyone makes me out to be
is lost energy.
lost life.
lost opportunities for growth smothered in thick creme & waste.
excess waste.
i waste.
i waste a lot.
sometimes i even waste things that can be reused, reduced or recycled. faux pas.
ideas.
jars.
interventions.
candy wrappers.
beliefs.
pits of peaches.
conversations.
i waste the tangible and intangible.
i waste the seen and unseen.
i waste a lot.

write.
write.
write the desert father speaks to me.
write of the goodness.
the sadness.
the suffering, pained, distressed.
write of the joyous times you have experienced with your feet in the muck where the leaches will suck you dry if you wait around too long.
write of the noisy dogs, street sirens, coffee bean mornings.
write of the abortions, the shootings, the completions, successes and such.

write.
write.
write the desert father speaks to me.
create, be still & write.