I rent my life, by the day, nothing more

A room where when conditions are right

The view is breathgiving-in crystal clear light

On long misty gray days my vision is poor

It is then my baggage arrives like a gypsy curse

and a whisper- not mine-it could always be worse

say menus slipped under my paint-chipped door

that the fare aint worth the high price I pay. 

Only while walking the dim Inner hallway

 My reflecting self echoes, revealing much more.

No dialtone questions its all who I know

No machines telling me nothing is free�?/P>

hinting everyone knows my number but me

with no ears to hear, where do the lies go?

I, the river of me, never steps into the same me twice

As I drip thru the the floor plan and flaws in the ice

through a hard world Liquid me will silently flow.

I know The Rent is never low; it’s sand that shapes my ocean,

As it polishes beach glass smoothed by soft motion

each piece joy, sadness; til I wave from below.

I shoreline smile for the whole damn thing

then come to Silence…seeing simply my soul

a battle-scarred baby, grown, never quite whole

in a backyard stadium, as sweet angels sing.

Those perched and preening angels await

Having all read the book, they all know my fate

Which me will I be whoever I bring? 

Still They wait on the crumbs- thumb up or thumb down?

Will the new child go round Buddha’s merry-go-round?

And if one-if –by-thumb, the thumb of which king?  

Will Allah glare “Infidel!�?and not wave me through?  

When Jesus bled for me just what did he know?

Buddha smiles inward- hey bud, can I go?

Am I saved, or will my lease come due

Be, Still. Ask Him�? Or Him�?.or Her

Will Jesus stop bleeding, or worse yet not stir? 

No doubt to be Evicted as the me I knew,

As though there was one me, yet I hold on so tight

If the glass bag is bulky, being mine makes it light

Seems we all are related- can you relate too?

Or maybe its more like an old photo tin

or wormfood, then birdfood, salted to taste

As back up we go, as recycled waste