pink is the harvest moon

moon hung lo


moon hung low
sticky black
sticky black
sticky night
black night


cradle rock slow
cry soft
cry soft
cry rain
soft rain

cricket song hush
cradle rock slow
rain cry soft say
moon hung low



1984 le

passion

to define passion: you go to sleep thinking about it and you wake up thinking about it. but whether you are passionate about what you love or what you fear -- is that the key to the little black box? i wonder if you open it by simply choosing what to think. have i been hearing that for thousands of years? too many question marks, or suffering from overuse?

random acts of violence leave a scar deceptively deep; great kindness is all too rare, small kindness all but extinct. you come to expect what you know best, and it follows. daily i try to emulate what i believe is normal, daily i find i feel normal not at all. it has become my passion, what i have been passionate about, not what i love.

and so here i am, thinking my way into oblivion: wondering at the wisdom of the broken spoke's success and the bravery of monks dying to light the way to liberation.