How do I tell you, Life,
I am tired of your stealing
my dreams, hopes, desires
as if they are loot you can haul away
and present to some other. Who the hell
is paying you anyway? You can’t fool
me. I know the patch over your eye,
The doo rag, the parrot that recites
Submit, submit…all lame tricks
Your ship may sail in open seas,
above the law, but what if
I sneak aboard. I can do that.
Many of these poems were written after I was on a archeological dig in Israel in 2001. The word "flint" means the leftovers. The poems in this collection are not all about the dig, they may be the leftovers from my experiences and impressions of people, family and and journey.