No More Empty Promises

A flier pinned to the cork-board 
in the back of the cafe 
says we are in the Kali Yuga
printed on A4 paper
promises of the end times

trucks roll along 90
small black circles wake up
one day to be frogs
men sprawl out on superior rd
'til burning sobriety of narcan sunrise

pocket full of pistachio shells 
or maybe it was teeth of my enemies
clicky click clicking by
trick with a tough shell
was cunning, not force

me no sage
only phony
few savior
left these days 

pockets turned inside out-
faith waning, 
an old masters secret diamond
(But you must make it there your own!)
the feeling of warmth radiating from ceramic into the hand
What bliss! 
What all embracing comfort there is!
one day you'll know
what I mean

genetic dharma
written into me 
when only soil under fingernail


All the gifts 
we leave for our children

All the fire below our feet


Men can't be gods
but the library a few blocks down the road
gives out 10 free prints a day to cardholders