Minas
Truth is filling up my spaces-change like patches in old and moldy clothes. It can only be a good thing. I think this when thunder passes across Minas-thunder and more thunder and it sounds like war. What is Minas to me? It's this green-the green my hips and fingernails and knees hold inside them-which I think I will never get rid of. This green that is in so many places all over the world. Minas -it's a beautiful word and my lover and music and all this green. It's Iracambi and Brasil and thunder like war. Minas.. Minas... Minas....