A simple machine. I convert heat into...
These California fridays.
With their fan palms, sword ferns, coastal redwoods
light winds carrying the sincere digger bee to its sacred work.
How could life not arise?
not arise each day?
The humble star asks for nothing. Wants nothing.
Dying unaware that it is God.
Dancing meanwhile, a lonely dance.
Prayers travel faster than the speed of light, they say.
The source is the destination, after all.
I revere me revere you revere me.
The music of the highway erodes.
Birdsong lasts forever.
Rebirth makes immortality.
Stillness courses through my veins, beating fast,
putting me to sleep turning heat into peace.
I sweat fear. I sweat visions. I sweat desire.
I crave. I wake...a simple machine