Eyes
Ears
My whole face is a
distillery for
sweat
and sunshine stumbles
along the pockmarked
blacktop as
the callous riche cruise along
in their
German cachets
The day promises little
other than
pouting
clouds and
the resolute indifference
of the construction sites
Then suddenly
an alabaster
flash
set off by the grey belly
of the
cumulonimbus
it heeds nothing but
instinct hone through millennia
this defiant white
spear
shoots across the
suburban pastiche
Where
will it end up where
is the
perch?
I know not I merely
emulate
this study in freedom
lacking
the form yet feeling
the calling
appearing outwardly less
significant
yet
inwardly soaring
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