mentira

one night the moon rose and it was half black and half white: balance.
people still stood inside, watching something on their screens.
the moon kept hiding the light of the stars, for some to witness.
cops
ecology
economy
crisis
war
love
work
creativity

unite and separate
cut and tie together
be alone (truly) and be with others
always music
rare moments of silence
alcohol (will I get to be a bukovski?)

effort to observe; record; remember; know; understand-
love and faith. trustfloating; flowing outwards, inwards, around and back again
movement and stillness. same and different; again and again.
a circle, a spiral, yes, at its center crouches nothing, everything, our hollow selves, our ever-inspired souls, our loss, our salvation.

who are we? whose true children? where are those roots, we all sprouted from?

my hands reach the sky like willowy branches of a timeless tree, whose roots I cannot see, my siblings branches cannot touch but some, and have birds perching on me, singing our determined fate, the uncertainty of our existence, the flying joys and our swingeing sorrows