Polite advice to hunters. Of homes and sundry other things besides.

The stars the graffiti of the gods

like shaky letters on walls and roads,
the moon puffs out a gibbous cheek
bitten off more than can be swallowed.  

 

 

 

The path is narrow, the path is broad

widespread the world and space hallowed;

peg the tent by a daisy face

but keep your own in alert mode.

 

 

Give your mind away to awed

but keep an eye out for the fraud

set no store by cactus smiles

and sunflower hearts without a code.

 

 

The slap of field's green, roughshod

feet trample at whim, crush rows sowed.

Keep pegs light and hammer not deep

and up they come at slightest prod.

 

 

The tent is all and the tent is flawed.

The walls are frayed, cup what’s hollowed

thin air, thick air, hot air, cool -

it’s nothingness that forms abodes.