Today, the sun sits at ease
while the clouds
play like children suspended in time,
carefree and visceral; the thought lifts
my feet as I step over the deadened grass.
Poetry and downtempo rhythms
carve into me as if I were
wood, and I melt into awe, transported
back in time a thousand years, where
wherefore is the question,
as it has always been, for millennia, and
To Be is wiped away like a fresh smudge.
Today, I meet a man with so much
hatred, he looks like any other
man on the street. And Today,
when I see him die, not ten minutes
later, when neon lights the streets
and women walk cross-legged in
the arms of their partners. I see him
walk off the stage and smile. Today,
I salute him as I glance briefly
at the newly darkened
sky. The times to come
may his likeness, his
visage, become the expression of
my own dreams, expanding like
a flowers last bloom
before the cold winter's night.