EPITAPH Now I'm not the brightest knife in the drawer, but I know a couple things about this life: poverty silence, impermanence discipline and mystery The world is not illusory, we are From crimson thread to toe tag If you are not disturbed there is something seriously wrong with you, I'm sorry And I know who I am I'll be a voice coming from nowhere, inside-- be glad for me.

I believe one day the distance between myself and God will / disappear.

Its hard for me to grasp that I might somehow be my fathers equal in any way.

Poem in other words may or may not result from inspiration but must (in reader and author alike) produce it--

Should each individual snowflake be held accountable for the avalanche?

The long silences need to be loved, perhaps more than the words which arrive to describe them in time.

We are created by being destroyed.