Got a word of advice?

I’m having the same problem twice

Holy places in my mind protect against time

But they don’t make my answers right

Always the same town

At dawn, lamp-lit puddles on the ground

An old library on the corner

Where the mayor’s daughter

Ensures all lost souls are found

A fantasy of possibility

An antidote to urbanity

With enough room to maneuver

I would be so much truer

To process

And intuitive certainty

At the center of things

The bells of freedom ring

At the center of things

There’s no need for a savior

At the center of things

The echoes of history sing

At the center of things

Emptiness is a perfectly fine neighbor

Do you also have a place you go?

When the static stars no longer glow?

And nature’s critique

Renders you unwilling to speak

In defense of culture’s

Vaudeville show

In Honesty, you don’t need a job

They give you a room above the saloon

Where you can converse with God

An old typewriter and wooden bench

One tough but understanding friend

Who takes you where the

White Horses trod

I happen to go there all the time

When every rhyme feels contrived

Reality simply can’t compare

To the Summer Solstice fair

Where paper soldiers kiss their velvet wives