Adam's Garden

indeed we ask ourselves the questions posed in lighter segments, containing air and fruitful endeavors.  i am not the bastion of support nor the enlightened jew that men believe make airs of poets and poets of the rocks that ordain such turf.

i am not the savior nor the whimsical flower petal, always inviting momentary admiration, lifting away too far without touching hands.

here amongst my friends i am kept alive and sane.  the burgeoning freedom of my age being the quiet lightning of my surge towards the surface of myself.

i can indulge the fancies and dapper holograms that surround such parts, but the ties and shoes that ordain the traders of the street are a made from the tender hands and mercies of myself.  i make your shoes and sell the shoestring to you smiling, knowing that i have killed again.