(Copied from a paper journal)

The legs went for a run today. The heart managed to follow. Two old negros carried a four armed cage. A racoon seemed confused, for what harm had he done?

The two men must've done it illegally. They were ignorant of causality (edit: was cruelty). If only they were to see the eyes behind the skin.

All I did was say "hello", as crossing them on the path, Previously I was caught in revery, but then could find no rath, to testify against their guns, or tiny faces.

My friend, dear Racoon, my friends, dear trappers,

I aplogize for just passing, with only inner dismay. All I could claim, was death was on its way for each and every one of us, on some distant tomorrow, or malign today.

For even a thought for you, was nothing but my own trick, it was quite despondent (of me), though we are all left sick. From birth to death, both bitter, flys a flame upon a wick. Mister Racoon, you foraged the land, and lived of that hold. Humans just steal, in hope to (edit:was "we") grow old.

We are young, we are
deathless, this is our song
We are old, we are
helpless, with a bit
off tongue we speak long.

Walking railroad tracks will never suffice. Where is the beginning, to the path called liberation?

*Quote:

Those up for execution,
get closer to their executioner
with every step they take.
So it is with human lives.

------ Shakymuni Buddha