democratization of information cuts more facets on the diamond of my interpretation avoiding social consensus condensing the rainbow light to a single beam of white chaos theory shaping my erratic patterns in the stream of life waiting for the waxing shadow of an eclipse to catch up to my own shadowiness where a peaceful dissolution of solemnity meets a truthful abyss for a mystic’s Seer mind follows the fractals of an illogical vine preferring circles and spirals instead of straight lines

thought and memory the whole entangled within the parts holographic memories persist across entropic remnants captured within the matrices that is me i think i’ll take random walk along a Fibonacci spiral descend the fractal stairways of emergence stand at the gates of mandalas labyrinth parallel paths both walked and not to realize the essence of who we are some glimpse of the great mystery that we are a drop of water in a vast sea that those who have passed remain as currents in the waves

the Red Mare rose from her bed starry flowers about her head through my mother’s hands awoke the Tula nan Trì into this house into this hearth our souls we keep a poet’s dream Summer winds fields of wheat pasture for sheep until she bids Gráinne to her side when Bran’s wing covers my eyes and the Darkness looks at me

released from Piety’s hand dream searching for a Dreamer a seed sown word waiting for a poem story to be told a note from a harp drifting on the moor a knowing wink from Shelagh na Gig above the church door keep your window open some bread crumbs on the sill Pan’s flute will come a calling and the Dream finds a will

I want to wrap my car around a tree, or get stung in the neck by a bee, or fall off a cliff fifty feet. I want to die, But I want it to happen accidentally. I want to be laid down in a padded box where no one can see if I am wearing socks. I want to be dressed up in a pretty white dress where someone has closed my eyes. But please dear God, Don't let me be the reason for my demise. I want to be dead. But I am afraid to die. -B.H.

IF you knocked on. My door how long would you Knock before you gave up a second or a minute or a hour or hours? And would I let you in and how long would you stay a minute or a hour or more? Before you walked out the door and out my life again?

We walk this road everyday. We watch the birds peck for food, We discover the red insects heading home, We pet all the dogs we know And we talk to all the cats that follow. But today was different. Today we looked up, And star struck wonder we knew. For today we saw - A sky peeking through clouds of trees, Glittering day stars twinkling away The sun finding it hard to see you and me Falling leaves cousins to snow and hail. Today we walked under a canopy of trees, Transported to a place of extra peace of utter tranquility. -M.A.

deep in the hollow sits the Queen unmoving her word is the hearth-fire her name is the binding oath all walls are raised to amplify her breath cell upon cell, the hall is woven a murmur here, a shout there one reed bends, many reeds hold no storm tears the roof we name no warrior of the swarm strike the wall and the air grows sharp they wake without bidding; they guard without sight they ask no question before the teeth, the buzzing comes a deep vibration drone felt in the gut a drum that silences thought bring flame to the hall and the hall bites back the woods give it wide berth, it is not a falsehood

The days I looked for rain clouds became dry So I never had the chance to water my roots Is there another solution to keeping my foundation strong without the essentials to keep growing? I'm afraid of not being able to remain stable as the wind directs me in its own way and one shot at life is all we get Who can I reach out to if my branches are short in length and every leaf that falls off becomes somebody else's problem Is there anybody to blame? Or was I a seed tossed into nature in the wrong season

the bell no longer rang its harmonics faded the resonance frequency no longer guiding the narrative Pavlov’s dogs sat patiently for their master’s voice neither barking nor whimpering waiting waiting never realizing reality caught up to the story the fragility of lies spun by spiders whose web was drying unanchored, drifting as the wind changed the dog's tail unmoving