Sitting Buddha...When life turns to soil, and the soil turns to stone and trees become the logs, the curse of winter and broken doorknobs... sitting Buddha... you know... at the core, the earth is made of gold and why fire luster through... bronzes and barrel seats... and... yes... Jesus walks on the sea of thoughts... Mohammad prophets feminism and Muses speaks to the burning bush... But you want to remain unteachable and nourish on dreams. Creaming your bread. Drinking the wine out of a weighty crystal glass... And your bones beat the wooden floors... flip flop… Craving to rest, to find the edge of the world... Shadows cover your palms, shadows cover your eyes... plants grow... and trees leave on fresh... you jungle the path in green... to bread the next... navel...

You are not unreachable.