He wandered through timeless tunnel, shape shifting from young boy to old man. He wished such transformations brought wisdom; enlightenment.

But his balance was off; like a cog in a Victorian factory wheel missing a tooth. Full steam puffing; turning humanity to full stop like telegraph tapper tapping telegram.

He stood in the power of angered nature, harnessing gift of froth and spit for his garden. Digging with spade, turning soil with fork; tossing in seeds of experience and lust.

Wildflowers grew; heads nodding in opium-scented poppy wind. He sat, cross legged, eyes of a million stories, and waited, buddha-breathing, under his bonsai-Bodhi tree.

Writing in the raw for mlmm Sunday writing prompt: collage 41