blog.marcwiesner.com

Little buggie
grabbing so snugly
to my arm as I ride.

Is your voyage intentional,
or was it simply accidental,
that you landed on the hair of my hide?

Shouldn’t you fly
along currents of the sky
instead of hitch along through the rain down Bascom?

How different are we?
you with you wings and thorax,
myself on steel, pedaling on the street.

I won’t balk;
born with legs, I rightly should walk,
on innovative transportation, I’ll shouldn’t even speak

Oh! that line!
Oh! the time…
A quick house drip,
and then I’m flyin’.

Just popped into mind when I had three minutes for class and just got in line for a coffee…what’s the point of class if I sleep during ’cause I didn’t have my fix, huh?

Burrowing soul-ward;
Hovering, a wisp of dream.
Impossible scent.

Hear the rain outside,
Clean, fresh, love strumming the world.
The drip drops, its life spent.

I was doing some thinking in the shower when the following poem came to me:

When the stick drops, it bounces
When the stick snaps, there are two
The stick is your Master, follow it
This is the way