Here, sitting in my cube
trying to be, still here,
just here, still and quiet
with the Grateful Dead

“Don’t murder me, I beg
of you don’t murder me,
please don’t murder me”

Trying to do, here, nothing
here, but listen, shut out
inside  voice, emails there
and their instant messages.

“I was born in the desert
raised in a lion’s den”

How can I really be? Here?
With them there, breaking
into my being -into my quiet.
Crashing my passing into here.


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