Standing on the edge of the wind,

Always on the edge of whatever wind

I am noticing.

Always on the edge.


Perhaps not a wind of great significance,

Perhaps not the wind noticed by those with greater

Notoriety, speaking thoughts

Of things of great

Social import.

Stuff which you think should be  noticed,

Stuff you think you should think important,

Or think you should think you should change.

Or simply think you should think was

Important stuff to think about.


I am simply on the edge of my own wind,

That breeze, gentile or not,

Moving through my own life.


Self importance blows with audacity,

Sometimes it is important.

Sometimes it seems only




However the winds in my life

effect me.


If shared, and the thoughts I write ring true, then,

Perhaps those same winds can blow sensibilities

To you.

Perhaps my own thoughts communicated can

Have value.


Dylan said something about Woody Guthrie writing songs

You could live your life by.

Wouldn’t that be something:

To write something that was a guiding light,

Rather than an indication of what someone’s else’s flashlight

Picked up from the shadows.



In the best light, words

Illuminating some part of life,

An actual emotion in life,

As it actually is lived.


Wouldn’t that, if communicated effectively,

If understood,

Wouldn’t that make someone else’s life,

The monstrous complexities,

More simple?


Wouldn’t’ that have



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