Fingers point in to seal what allows waves to enter. It happens naturally, attempting to keep out a sound linked to a dream. Each day more deferred. Singing along does nothing but intensify it, leaving my throat dry. Eyes wander up to the sky like it has the answer. A desire the size of a raisin. hidden deep with in bleakness; the noise blinded by the sun. Inside cues are unheard or overlooked; left to fester. Tunes once vibrant like fireflies illuminating a black field create a sore unrecognized. Oblivious and ignorant. Then is what I run away from; yet it does not make the hum disappear; it only dissolves the stink to an unnoticeable hint like bread rotten. My core once full of meat. I marched to the beat or maybe it formed a crust around all thoughts and notified me when sugar oozed out over the brim of my truth. Like examples before I fall prey to a slide syrupy and sweet pulling me away. Maybe I am scared it will be just perfect. Skin sags as time passes like light wind, unfelt; a sensation soul heavy fumbling to un-load. Yesterday I began to listen or correctly hear what does exist confined. It is looking to explode.
This is written in the form of a golden shovel which Terrance Hayes uses. If you read each end word of each line you will be reading one of my all time favorite poems by Langston Hughes called A Dream Deferred. The entire poem is made up of two poems; I wrote the poem that leads left to right.