It can start in the most interesting of ways, these falling into holes filled with words that spin out potentials for experiencing our reality. Tonight it was a tattoo on the arm of the young woman who took my money at the counter when I was purchasing a cookie. And the scripted writing on the underside of her forearm said:
she speaks of love
and into Love Is A Dog From Hell we fall with Bukowski.
Charles, thank you for sharing your words tonight. I however, choose to free our bird and to enjoy the flight, no matter how turbulent it may be… even if it leads to my weeping within an early taste of death.
Dear reader, what are you doing with the bird found in your aviary?