“We are all equal, humble and acting democratically
typing away until there is a wetness of untapped feeling
a jump from the gut to the throat because the spirited come
at the bottom of the bed as an orb of light.
It’s brighter than the light drawn from a bulb in its IKEA shade and
it just stays a little bit longer than the thoughts of
what it’s doing on this side with the living.
The impulse to get up from underneath the covers, comforter and
“turn off the light” gives way to the next morning.
These moments of sleeping and waking
are my days and nights.
Somewhere above these aspects,
I desperately seek through conscious contact
my Spirit through written language.
We love it written long hand.
We love to see it typographically.
We love to hear that the conversation never ends.”