March 27 by The Running Son
Two thumbs way up
for any wave that will carry us all safe.
Moments feed momentum.
The very trust we insist upon needs
breath. I speak waterways
into existence. sixty two percent
of me will carry kindred spirits skyward.
thirty eight will feed on the lips
of every word then die. Some
percentage of my mix will cryogenically
exist surfing that great wave in the sky.
by Jim Aldrich (:
.namaste. -• ö.tH(ink)Mÿstiç •- .namaste.