Hey mom-dad, listen.
Hit me, hate me, throw me out,
But don't shut me up.

Can you carve color like you crave attention,
My eyes are starving,
for a golden glimpsing,
Will we wander or will we surrender,
To the darkness,
Blinding our vision.

Will these wild white words
Garner redemption,
I'm just a poor boy,
from the home of the hits and,
Can we feel like we do on the streets of New Orleans,
Watch your glass and half your portion.

What in this white world changes?
Dust bowls now filled, aren't so dangerous,
But let's Forgo the colors and drink from loving cups,
Give your hugs to a stranger.

swallowing has become a chore these days,
like mowing the lawn in the rain,
i hear my gulp when the room is silent
and it sounds violent,
my ears crack and swollen waves squeak,
am i apprehensive of deliberate rhythm?

my esophagus is as tight as a noose,
so the shrink prescribed drool,
but i'd rather swallow than daze,
and deny the fog entrance through
my maze.

gently tapping
at my chamber door
came this bird
as one word..

the word seemed to say
not your old booklore
not some visitor
not the darkness there
not the whispered name..
but simply perching
and waiting..this word in
my silence..terrified..

I sat on my cushion
with my imaginings
with my memories
some perfumed..
and the word repeated
not these..not these..

a question arose
of biblical import
and in desperation
I implored about the
balm in Gilead..?
the word repeated..

upstarted I demanded
departure..leaving my
loneliness unbroken..
and even to this
the word repeated..

the word still sits
above my chamber door
awaiting my waking
from my life in shadow
floating on the floor...