There is a possible revolution on every corner.

Yerba, Baby.

Okay, programmy album title.

In the dark center of the Temple of Reason is a mystic-priestess in ecstasy.

Re-reading work is excruciating for self-critical perfectionists. But typographical eros is a more loving approach.

I let go
in order to grow down,
into dark, nutritious ground.
I feed my garden
nectar of golden apples.
Having freed my hands
of tares from elsewhere,
my plants grow so full
weeds send up flares
just to be noticed.

Aren't they all?

with B&T on Gale Meadows Pond ...

It wraps a mystery, of course.

... or Blighted Narcissists?