Zion presented me with a panoramic view and I surveyed her land like a Spiritual broker; hell-bent on laying claim to the buried flecks of gold birthed beneath her stony ground.  I saw numbers in road signs and watched the highway blur beyond hot tears as a desert sunset reflected hot purply-pink across my cornea.  Mining for gold is a fool’s bane, but I was in love with staking land claims.

If cliches are the False Self’s sense of expropriating “knowledge” to bury more of the Soul’s gold, then “the more I learn and the more I experience, the less I truly know,” cliche is not such a bad mantra afterall.  I pondered these thoughts as the Medicine Man placed his vibrational tuning fork to my chest.  The metal hummed and whirred to the frequency of a tiny sparrow.

“You’re an Absolute Beginner,” he grimaced as he replaced the fork, chiming it once again with more verve and gusto.  A slight hum, whirr, and an audible “click” emanated from the device.  Ironically, the handle was gold.  I choked a sigh of relief.

The Medicine Man patted me on the back and whistled as he strode across the park.  His leather shoes made a slight squeaking sound as each foot pounded the earth.

so the absence of Cupid’s visit could hardly

be considered anything less than consistent.

She lets her fingers hover over the keyboard

with a non-blonde swish of “imperfection”

she types a few words and imagines him there.

His eyes are open and perhaps blood-shot

as he lay upon the solid pack of floe ice

with a bottle of whiskey frozen to his glove.