Mente Mezcla

The war horse makes war The peace horse, peace A bushel of our limited time is spent building and rebuilding And not enough asking forgiveness (soil can’t hear our toil, unless we lay in it and then: it’s too late) In our inherent laze we create malaise, between each other and our mother We leap forward only to bind ourselves backwards. To the technocrat brat, renew your energy by breathing trees Build a fire and cook the food you grow, the animal you hunt… Sleep under the Milky Way and drink, let your infant eyes nurse this galaxy And then tell me if the space you spoil with wires and buyers Is worth the loss?

The winds are finally here I've been summoning them, Thinking elemental mental thoughts while they left me here heated cold, Winter's white, somber stillness a beautiful curse... (deaf ears, vertical horizons, and all things star-crossed and tainted) And on these winds now I send to you my skin Still supple with youth's last whispered hurrah. Tanned like ancestor sun toil, freckled Laughter and tears in sun and rain I send my voice, a deeply soft reminder of the moons we've traveled, calling to one another one step ahead... Sometimes galaxies behind I swirl my breathe towards you from the deepest inhale, searching for your scent among spring's seedling intent in these winds. You, my content My comfort My home My air.