Finished my work day
Kicked ***
    Smoked a big cigar at lunch
Now waiting for a friend
    To come for dinner
I think we'll open
    That Japanese whiskey
        I've been holding onto

I don't look the part
    But business suits me
        I'm ruthlessly practical
            I deliver results

I studied to be a minister
Suiting me less

Suitability being appropriate; fitting; proper, befitting, seemly, apt

I thought myself a proper minister
As thinking
    Is my favorite past time
But patrons of such groups
Don't love thinking too much

Left that path
Called ******* at the temple
And didn't look back

I'm not much of a poet
It suits me least
    But I write
        write
            write
                write
And I'm allowing this path
To take me downstream
To larger, slower, quieter waters
Where souls rest
Until then
I'll enjoy the feel of
    the cool current best I can
How 'bout you?

Sometimes "forever" will last for only a minute

I dreamed of my father
crossing the fields
on his one-eyed tractor
mowing acres of sadness
heading east of a moon
that'll be gone tomorrow
and I waded the creek
beneath a ridge
where my mother is shearing
dead roses and the smell
of those flowers floating
to the foot of the mountains
reminds me of her hair
and my father's laughter
disappearing across the hill.