magnetic compass

On a park bench in the fields
Two pull up a chair and stay awhile
‘I’m a surgeon, not a psychologist’
Well that’s nice dear; looking inwardly outwards
My covert narcissist peeking through the curtains, disappointed
Whisperer, reminder of great things long ago – irrelevant by todays standards

No bearing / Barely breathing in the frost / Shallow hunter / Deeply lost / Survive / Thrive

By building chainsaws that
Cut out, clear away
Deadwood trees and blackberry brambles
Reinstalling new life for the next civilization

Illogically logical pointing ears and fingers
Seeking the next adventure
Wouldn’t it be great if… if…. & only if…
The truth is stranger than fiction

I’m still the chief of the enterprise
I’ll tell you what you need and when you need it

Laughter – best medicine – always prescribed
Twenty four seven; three six five
Like oxygen, only more flammable
More prone to spontaneously combust
Spilling outwards onto everything

Good thing there’s open communication
Else things would get lost in translation
Self aware to know enough
That I know absolutely nothing at all

Except you can smell the food but you can’t touch the silverware

Spooning homemade salsa on a plate

Rubbing elbows – a lamp illuminates

Forbidden fruit tempting, an apple rolls across the floor

On it is writ “To the fairest”

That’s one way to start a war

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