My clouded eye fills with images
Of wringing colour from the ceiling
Like a wet rag;
Of wrinkled stars in April skies
Dancing and taunting me;
Of Native hands meditating, praying;
For what, I wish I knew.
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 6:37 PM UTC
My clouded eye fills with images
Of wringing colour from the ceiling
Like a wet rag;
Of wrinkled stars in April skies
Dancing and taunting me;
Of Native hands meditating, praying;
For what, I wish I knew.
