It was a wild alto-wielding sax man, screeching with halted notes and dissonant disregard for the folks and their fortune that awoke the birds, and the unyielding flock would mask the sky as two lovers kiss on a bench with flaking paint. The shores are prevailing, the yoking eggs would seep through cracks in the counter while children squeal and leave stains on the walls. Walking through forsaken habitats and dingy rats are bastardising the progression of time and in turn, they confuse a poet as he composes the castigated texts of his forlorn memories.
It was here that piano keys shook the core of the Earth with trembling recompense, and furthermore would eventually seek to unify the tribes of long suffering lands into the rambling herd that stampede through river basins, with alphabets falling from their back pockets. Ah black sky, with your inherent displeasure and disquiet, why are you crying on me tonight? The stars are as despairing as I.
I take your hand and lead you through green-light flickering corridors, as the rats are congregating and confusing us once more. Water drops overhead and we fall into chasms of disparity, holding onto piping that scolds our waning fingers, leaving us foreboding and dumb. Numb to the illicit sirens and the implications of urban living. And your body is sullen, as the Antelope are liberated, but with woe I could feel the icy chill that radiates from you and your once heated body.
Tire tracks, hurried, and the rats find no suspect, so with wringing hands I step into the sunlight and feel the blue sky ramifications and remember your name.
Gravel track buried, the flocks would return to nest in romantic trees, and I find myself alone as the sun rescinds its gaze, placing me in darkness once more.
And the alto-man continues to sing through tubular declaration, as the steadily raging war provides rhythm to the desolate streets and I feel disconnected.

my breath* .....

1.
the powerful, yet gentle wind beneath this dismal, broken flight
the crazy, brilliant ship on stormy seas;
can’t fly over to you ... on wounded wings
can’t sail the wide oceans .... without its captain.


2.
should grow up, by now....
but just can’t, ok.
why so afraid of what longs to be, what's meant?
let me tell you, this is real!


3.
how failure sits smug, an endless smirk
hopelessly try to put it all together again.



you are ....my very breath.... and yet,
you are ....still unable to see ....


S T, 30 May 2013