inside their own penitentiary of thought
waifs await a quiet moment
when rare birds aglow with a treasure of color
may gather in the dusk.

The leather skinned waifs
and wayward hardcase eye ballers
pick the fallen feathers to remake their own
images into one of a leisurely glide from grace
into one of freedom from guilt
and with deft fingers peel away the last page
as i burn the next
with the hot ink of impatient ideas  
leaving only this page behind
under a spread of stars like a mastermind
madman's ideal tool of complete confusion
baffles the heart and soul by a scattering of kittens laced with poison eyes
undermines the self with overwhelming dark mirth
and leaves a river of doubts in the trenches between
you and all your loved ones of yesterday

Its this temple of repentance and reluctance
a brick and mortar remembrance
of a summers day delicate beginning
a spiders web thin mist
on the open water
and the dulled sparkles of fading stars wheeling overhead
rocking on the waves like in a mothers arms
safe and reassuring

this empty palace of the sun
brings me to my knees
to beg my worth in paper
and weight in coin...
measure the lengths which
i must go to find peace at my days end
and wonder at how long i must linger behind
to watch the ribbons of cloud chase each other across
azure skies