Who are my trusted guides?
Who are my best mentors?
Who can I depend on for the truth?
Guides are only guides.
They keep to the same path.
Mentors are only mentors.
They can pass on only what they know.
The one I depend on for the truth --
that one can only be heard from within.
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Diaspora
Rope coils into a basket this cupola
of light, a glint that slices through
as if sound were drained of all color
but insight. Hung out to dry,
it swings in the lazy adulation of a breeze,
nesting place for snails, worms, and the startled
cardinal that beds in its furrows. Brief
as a lull between flights, its promise
that the predatory cease seems now
balm before a storm, cinnamon tufts
at the end of joss sticks twisting upwards
singed gasps from an oxygen tank.
[Disposable Poem November 6, 2012]
Dr. Mike
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