::11:15:07::

::: Song Of Self :::

My protest
is a
song sung
of self 
speaking through
pen, paper
love, loss
and flimsy
indifferent shrugs:
I am,
I am,
I am,
a Director
of no
one.

Actor in
a one
man play,
which is
without words,
no plot,
a testimony
for dirt
for seasons,
for enigmas
and all
simple things,
in love.

My protest
is a
silent spring
refusing to
grow straight,
living without
or within
but rather
I sit
still and
inhale, exhale
while ground
communicates beneath
my feet.

Within amorphous
Buddha space
is no
place but
here which
empty in
time is
no place
not here.

The chair
is warm
and the
house a
boomed ship.

Protest is
silence, a
trust fund
for all
spirit to
invoke a
human form
from the
pieces of
wounds and
hurt by
which we
were first
created.

I Govern
no one,
am a
member of
no agency,
no organization,
no bureaucracy,
no lie
but rather
I am,
I am,
I am,
a living
man who
pulled from
water drying
my deck
sits still
silent as
a tide
dispersing hope
to the
wild creativity
stuck in
time that
is a
bay polluted
by the
impact of
being born
and learning
to live.

Written by: ~ Randall Sokoloff