blues contralto
like a blind man looking over his shoulder seeing nothing..
feeling the sun fall down from orange clouds..
water pours from the mouth of the sky as ironbirds make their
way across waves of raindrops.
the closure of my own awakening sings and sighs.. through this
indoor outdoor stream of consciousness.
never can the manchild find his way back after a long days journey
into adulthood..
the pained rising of light and the falling of the stars..
crashing in the shoreline’s edge. the light in the window is all.
i babble like the brook dripping waters to the well of our own understanding.
dead arrogance at the backward glance..
the blindness of our own ignorance..
forgive and forget is only regret,pain of denial.
i dig deeper to find that gimcrack amidst the rubble
of my own issues..
with wings to fly to distant places..
spaces of my own neon window..
glowing in the
darkness..a million miles away.
i crack under heat
the lines show a stream
leading to the sea
of remote possibilities..
waking is said feeling.
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