You’ve learned to listen so there’s nothing left to do
these were once thoughts now it’s pear juice up your sleeve.
Easter discoursing heart walks out from the cave of mind:
intention is a subtle fire
when the world’s over cows standing round the field,
the last body still burning ambles past her sycamore.
Why is the future always late?
That’s an auspicious question friend,
if he comes he’ll ask you for a piece of bread;
or just look, look around, it's our reckless way of being born.
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