The Stream Beneath The Shrubbery.

And here is something a little less downbeat.


The Stream Beneath The Shrubbery

To dwell in a world, that should exist,
which does exist as long you're there,
or anyone else is there,
if only for a few moments.

To write through doubt,
and find friends in characters,
who you'd wish you could be and can be
for a short while.

There's something over there,
something about "selling."
It doesn't seem important
right now. Go away.

To find the seam into the mountain
and the trail along the valley
the stream beneath the shrubbery
and clamber across when you fail.

Justification for doing nothing,
if something is done for nothing
if nothing is done for something
then something is something.

Playing with words,
for the sound of them,
garbled together for effect
and meaning beneath.

It's fallout from a life of reading,
spillover from the beauty,
impersonations of moments,
that turn into moments.

To return the favor,
reformed and changed,
into something new
something that is all mine.