"freeways" poems
Pieces of
our past.
Wondering how we will
Patchwork
them back
together,
in the days
of the weeks,
the months
of the years ahead...
as you disguise
yourself,
on benches,
in corners, alleys.
Hidden in woods,
underpasses
of freeways.
Tents, cars
of strangers.
Filthy trap houses.
You disappear,
to find
comfort in
the only place
left to heal.
The Deep Depths of Sleep.
Oh how I
worry about
you my love.
You suffer so
for this journey
you have embarked on...
Oh, how I
hurt for you,
yearn for you,
love for you
and cry for you.
Your pain
so deep
keeps you away,
to dwell in the
terrifying place that
encourages
the need to
Self implode..
Obliterate all ability to feel.
Even the
true sense of Belonging
Of being
unconditionally
loved.
Aug 5, 2019
Aug 5, 2019 at 2:04 AM UTC
the hills were beginning to grow
the grass greening on the approach
to Blue Earth, and how
in summer
Minnesota shed her old coat
to shy guilty into brief silty lakes
like the
joy of a little kid, sneaking a forbidden dip.
remarking, casually, about
white warm flowers hung low from
planned oaks, and the impossible way the town
pulled local hills close, to coat
in dandelions. and cultivate
all under an ambitious midwestern sun.
rolling through the stop sign, hand on mine
you told me if you’re moving at all
you should keep it in second gear.
and we had so far to go, but in the light that
broke through westbound clouds,
we became less so.
contented to spread toes out in earth we
dug into Minnesota, the middle coast:
a land we could like to get to know.
and you:
looking down at the salt, the sand, the scars of
the grand american plantation:
the last coast.
knowing that by the next coast, we
you and me.
we'd be through.
saying, ‘how could anybody die?’
saying,
‘how could anybody tell you anything true?’
undercut by the honest waves of the little lake,
the hum that drummed in my gas tank.
trying, for once, at a little piece of truth:
when I leave this place I leave
a part of me behind.
and that part of me
will be you.
saying there’s only so much sweetness in the soil,
only so long after the thaw,
and grief is rich and dark and made for sowing:
must be, for maintaining verdant local hills, must be
for to keep corn sweet. must be for to put
grief
on the table. must be for to
keep with us.
for to keep a little bit to eat.
saying, we bleed but together we make a hole
to bury both our bodies in.
saying there’s a west out west but too late it’s
already hemmed us in.
saying now I am only a fragile assimilation of this weak
and fractured purpose that drives me, and you are
beautiful enough I would lie to let you love me.
even I would scorch this soil if only things wouldn’t grow I would
saying Blue Earth is still in the trucker's atlas is
only an excuse for sunshine. a point,
where freeways go.
saying,
“with earth, so green, that here they call it 'Blue'.”
saying
“I could learn to love a leopard.”
saying
“how dare you.”
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 7:20 AM UTC
Distance
The space that is holding us back.
The thing keeping my hand from caressing your back.
These roadways, highways, and freeways
Blocking my way to you
I need to make my way to you.
Distance
This is the problem
Love I believe it to be the answer.
Tho, the solution to the problem
Raises a question
That needs to be answered.
How far does love go?
Distance
What is love in distance?
Would I measure it in miles or inches?
How much love does it take to get to you?
Does love matter if the distance is to great to get to you?
Distance
I don't like this distance
Tho, I'll travel the farthest distance.
Just to give you a give a kiss
Can you feel the love don't resist it.
Distance
Love knows no distance
If I were on Venus
You were on Saturn
We'd meet on Mars
The distance wouldn't matter
Distance
It takes time to travel
Tho, I think we could go the distance.
When I said I love you I meant it.
I know you felt the love
Just try not to feel the distance.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 6:41 PM UTC
Hidden things
obvious
To opened eyes
Pathways not taken
missed
Freeways of thought
Caressing the hand
seduction
When starving
Tickled breezes
intoxicating
A tornado of scent
The taste of life
opening
Minds for experience
listen for your bravery
May 6, 2021
May 6, 2021 at 1:31 PM UTC
When CNN monotony breaks my heart,
children wail for candy at cash registers,
and traffic buzz replaces birdsong,
I flee to my garden to water and ****
Sanctuary explodes in miniature chorales
soprano buds breaking through cellulose cradles
last waters from a thousand wilting blossoms
sing tenor at their organic wake above the loam
and endless pneumatic streams drip from leaf tips
as they always have and will.
A googolplex of minute carbon dramas occurs
melodious ballads echo relentlessly
like Buddha’s kalapas of soil and light
as pistil and stamen call the fat brown bees.
Equally marvelous are my hands'
deft fingers fueled by arterial rivers
lymph and blood on capillaric freeways
with off-ramps for neighborhoods of dividing cells
built into my DNA,
this machine of loving grace.
Even the leather of my gloves
once lived thick on a bull eating grass
that waved on a prairie where the soil
let the sun in
drank the rain
and that meticulous ensemble
plays still for the wolf and the eagle.
With the last seed sewn
I sit transfixed by the garden gate
knowing every blossom in every random patch
will arise and pass away like the pointless TV news
and I hear the machinery of this impermanence
crackling like spring frost
when sprouts push through
and Gaia’s eternal trumpets ring.
May 28, 2012
May 28, 2012 at 10:31 PM UTC
concrete shades the yellow-lighted symphony.
The peso-heavy take taxis;
security valets motors steaming castle gates.
I ask, which way is the 158?
Indifferent, they say, walk straight neath the freeway —
there is a bus stop two blocks away.
****
****
****
Clocktower hands transpose Cindarella-brick
to embers of electricity,
a factory aside scrawled graffiti;
fingers timidly ricket pitchfork fences.
Palermo is 11 km north.
Where is the north star?
I look straight ahead, repeating what
the travel blogs said like,
Be lost, don’t look lost;
flappy plastic maps scream vulnerability.
Be lost, not rich;
iPhones in gotham alleys are batman signals.
Walk fast.
Don’t pay attention to the eyes that pass.
Careless ponytails and brass hair attract
glances back.
Two blocks deep into the homeless shelter
beneath freeways, blankets
in shopping carts toppled over,
cars screaming away the symphony
into shadowed silence between heels striking.
Tunnel breath emerging on the other side,
gasping past stacked Jenga towers,
wired with antennas and empty clotheslines;
families and crack ****** sleep inside.
Safety’s herd thins as couples dart left down
cobblestone tributaries
that either lead to bus stops or parked cars.
I walk straight ahead with
sleeve-covered hands that swing like sticks
in the wind.
The symphony turns to
heartbeats and footsteps
plucking quickly;
fearing the 180 behind,
to zombies with sunken eyes,
thirsty for a thirty-cent high.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC
I aimed the old car
south and
ran as many red
lights as my luck
would allow.
Kept my sunglasses
on as I
listened to Frusciante
singing
nothing but the
truth all through
the magic of
my radio.
Left the madness of
the city and
entered the
land where
atomic bombs
and peoples sanity
have both
been tested.
Desert roads
littered
with desert lies,
like oasis and
promises made
in Vegas.
I took a toot
off the side of
my hand like
I seen them do in
the movies.
Wasted the better
part of my stash
on this foolish
trick.
This ride I'm
taking is real.
On my way
I'll be looking for a
wild young girl
to roll my joints
and laugh at my
jokes,give my eyes
a place to rest in.
I'm looking for
a lovely from the
low side of town.
Whose spirit has
yet to be broken
and whose mind
isn't already
filled with their
lies.
Watched as the
California landscape
turned from
beaches and tropical
palms to
cactus taller than
most men
and dry forgotten
land that
most come to
die in.
From congested
freeways that hold
the drivers hostage.
To wide open
desert highways
where its safe to
drink straight from
the bottle without
that pestering public
servant there to
ruin your ride.
If I make it out of
this dam
desert alive
with my wallet
and my sanity still
intact.
I'll look back
at it all
as just another
memory.
And try
not to give
in to
ever going
back.
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 5:32 AM UTC
Staring into stars, the lonely people drink their tears
And genuflect to empty car parks and swallow their fears
Like Ernest Hemingway, they grit their teeth and laugh
********* a pocket bullet, contemplating aftermath
And the shadows bend and grow…
And the embers shine below.
Geared for success, the lonely boy begins to starve
His chest heaving from stress, his wish for waterfall in cars
Freeways self-entitled, forcing ants into the gutter
While a lonely father cries and the boy freezes and sputters
And the doorway opens up
As the mouth is finally shut.
“I’m not mad, son, you’ve only disappointed me”
Father, point the way for me, where is my life leading?!
Should I sacrifice my happiness for a chance at succeeding?
Should these calloused hands be empty, do I need a beating?
You need to straighten up your tie and keep your noses clean.
My mother’s eyes in moonlight silently judging me
Inhumanity, why don’t you rule these streets?
I bite my bottom lip and gaze down at my feet
Lumped chunk of nicotine
Pushing itself out of me.
I want to stop blending rainwater with my leaking eye-sockets,
Crying for another with which to share my gold locket,
Tossing and turning, wondering where I will be next
And for God’s sake, can I do it, am I trying my very best!?
Why can’t I get up on time like every normal human being?
Why do I always get sick, why do my guts hate me?
Why are all my joints always crackling and aching?
I never want to live, don’t ever try to save me!
“I’m not mad, son, you’ve only disappointed me”
Father, point the way for me, where is my life leading?!
Should I sacrifice my happiness for a chance at succeeding?
Should these calloused hands be empty, do I need a beating?
Staring into stars, the lonely people sit and smile
Counting all the faces staring back, retracing miles
Celestial serenity, striving for an energy
Never needing inquiry, embracing the no thing!
Should these calloused hands be empty?
Do I need a beating?
Will these pruning hands deceive me?
This Universe is in me.
Jun 3, 2011
Jun 3, 2011 at 3:58 PM UTC
Awake.
Rise to meet
The day that greets you.
Do not rise to meet
The day you hope for
Or the day you fear.
The world is millions of
Quarks and neutrinos
Passing through our bodies each day.
The world is protons and electrons
Spinning in perpetuity and decaying.
The world is atoms and valance bands
Bonding into molecules and cells
Building organs and tissue.
The world is people and plants and animals
Feeding on each other to survive another day
In city streets and freeways
And states and nations
And continents and oceans
Under an atmosphere
By a moon
In one solar system
Of one galaxy
Of a universe that has hundreds of billions of them.
And space.
Most of all space.
Empty and marvelous.
Relax.
There is time.
Time to greet the day.
Not the day you hope for
Or the day you fear
But the day that is.
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 3:33 AM UTC
a pleasant memory of riding in cars
taking us to places so near and so far
looking out the windows in amazement and wonder
as we pass all the sights that make our minds ponder
the freeways, the streets, the canyons, and alleys
rolling along at great speeds and right through the valleys
through the window you see, a whole different world
as the wheels roll along and the sights are unfurled...
Brian Hill - 2020 # 298
Oct 29, 2020
Oct 29, 2020 at 2:42 PM UTC
*The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings, but shorter tempers; wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints.
We spend more, but have less; we buy more, but enjoy it less.
We have bigger houses and smaller families; more conveniences, but less time;
We have more degrees, but less sense; more knowledge, but less judgment; more experts, but more problems; more medicine, but less wellness.
We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry too quickly, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too seldom, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.
We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values.
We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.
We've learned how to make a living, but not a life; we've added years to life, not life to years.
We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet the new neighbor.
We've conquered outer space, but not inner space.
We've done larger things, but not better things.
We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul.
We've split the atom, but not our prejudice.
We write more, but learn less.
We plan more, but accomplish less.
We've learned to rush, but not to wait.
We build more computers to hold more information to produce more copies than ever, but have less communication.
These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion; tall men, and short character; steep profits, and shallow relationships.
These are the times of world peace, but domestic warfare; more leisure, but less fun; more kinds of food, but less nutrition.
These are days of two incomes, but more divorce; of fancier houses, but broken homes. *
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 7:27 AM UTC
Staring into stars, the lonely people drink their tears
And genuflect to empty car parks and swallow their fears
Like Ernest Hemingway, they grit their teeth and laugh
********* a pocket bullet, contemplating aftermath
And the shadows bend and grow…
And the embers shine below.
Geared for success, the lonely boy begins to starve
His chest heaving from stress, his wish for waterfall in cars
Freeways self-entitled, forcing ants into the gutter
While a lonely father cries and the boy freezes and sputters
And the doorway opens up
As the mouth is finally shut.
“I’m not mad, son, you’ve only disappointed me”
Father, point the way for me, where is my life leading?!
Should I sacrifice my happiness for a chance at succeeding?
Should these calloused hands be empty, do I need a beating?
You need to straighten up your tie and keep your noses clean.
My mother’s eyes in moonlight silently judging me
Inhumanity, why don’t you rule these streets?
I bite my bottom lip and gaze down at my feet
Lumped chunk of nicotine
Pushing itself out of me.
I want to stop blending rainwater with my leaking eye-sockets,
Crying for another with which to share my gold locket,
Tossing and turning, wondering where I will be next
And for God’s sake, can I do it, am I trying my very best!?
Why can’t I get up on time like every normal human being?
Why do I always get sick, why do my guts hate me?
Why are all my joints always crackling and aching?
I never want to live, don’t ever try to save me!
“I’m not mad, son, you’ve only disappointed me”
Father, point the way for me, where is my life leading?!
Should I sacrifice my happiness for a chance at succeeding?
Should these calloused hands be empty, do I need a beating?
Staring into stars, the lonely people sit and smile
Counting all the faces staring back, retracing miles
Celestial serenity, striving for an energy
Never needing inquiry, embracing the no thing!
Should these calloused hands be empty?
Do I need a beating?
Will these pruning hands deceive me?
This Universe is in me.
Jun 3, 2011
Jun 3, 2011 at 4:01 PM UTC
We made nests in clocks
that Summer the electricity died.
Stars rose out of the ether for the first time in centuries.
Autumn rolled in
but it only grew hotter.
We climbed on rooftops to escape the heat of our homes
and saw the silhouettes of strangers follow.
Winter choked the freeways, the subways, the old ways.
Rust fell on us like rain.
We danced in the belly of an abandoned ship
cheeks burning with mirth.
By Spring
the plants had withered
and the animals had slept until their bodies devoured their souls.
We sat on the town hall as the sun engulfed the sky
Thankful for such a beautiful life.
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 8:37 AM UTC
o, darling
daylight has never been your most flattering
light
and how could it be?
you never sleep,
because life is but a dream
like that old
children's song
goes
dear god of boujee
women, the ones with
bloodstained louboutins
let me autotune myself to sound inhuman,
say my prayers to
you
in the dying light
of the atl
freeways
my only hymn i have to
offer is that of
migos
and instead of bread and wine
i have lean and
xanax
o, darling
our eyes will never
age
and new money, who dis?
will forever be the closest thing
we have to a mantra
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 2:05 PM UTC
Ive still got your hands locked around my throat like a noose and its cold
cold as summer rain when spring breaks
there is still frost up in the mountains for gods sake
and when i hear you sing its like whatever heaven is supposed to be breaks
and holds me in its celestial proverbial arms and rocks me gently
when you sing the vibrations shake my soul and resonate deeply and completely
and you let all your vocal chords ring out in beautiful chords
that i try to play on my guitar but they always sound flat
and this old hat that i wear on my head seems to travel more than i will
as its been to brazil and i thank roger for that
but i digress cause the point is to say
when you sing it brings me to a place i only dream
and it seems that with each breath you take
it makes my heart quiver and shake and break into a thousand pieces
but it only takes a crescendo to bring it back together so please sing for me baby
i know your register better than you do so please sing for me baby
when im old and grey and beatdown and blue i will remember you
i will remember you as one thousand melodies carrying through the trees
i will remember every word you said to me but I will remember them as a song
blowing down the streets on cold winter mornings and hot summer days
through the hallways and alleyways
on the highways and freeways
syncopating with the hum of my tired engine
running on fumes and memories of afternoons and evenings listening to you sing
so before you go one last encore
one last song to ease me into my cosmic core
as i lay on the shore of the great south bay
like it was on the first day and like it will be on this the last
sing me something slow but with fast parts that catch me off guard
like the first time I heard the pixies in my bestfriends backyard
something that will send chills down my spine and relax my mind
to solidify this truth that to me is self evident
as my energy is spent i need to hear you sing your song
in this place that was always tuned to so different a key
please sing for me baby
please just sing for me baby
Sep 16, 2011
Sep 16, 2011 at 1:16 AM UTC
sunrise is lazy this morning
as our awakening coincides with shivers
running up and down cool spines
on crusty concrete floors
sheets and sweating water cups,
that's what we ride for
past waterfronts and freeways,
fast as we can with sleep in our eyes
paisley prints surround us
as i lay and recount our night
flashes of flash lights reveal
strange structures inside of silos,
climb on, climb on,
exploring exploitation of the norm,
art in ways art hasn't yet dreamed
wild animal sounds bounce and billow
around in old grain homes,
while hands keep beats and hearts
are pedaled in shadow onto walls
fire breathing pipes belch into the
calm, black night and attempts to
climb towers are squandered by
men holding flashlights and power
so we fade into the nothingness and find
other metal mountains to explore,
garage doors open up to windmills
and i find myself with knees as
****** and black as the night before us
still, the animals cry out, but this time
it's low and between rushed breaths
that betray a sense of ecstasy only felt
when it sneaks up from behind
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
Sometimes
I'm feeling like...
I need'a
Speed up.
Move fast.
As the Green light turns Red.
Pedal to metal.
I am off in a flash.
Foot on lock.
Won't ease up.
Drift off.
Drift late.
Just wait.
Skidding with thunder.
As the Red Accord rubber wheels bleed
We recede in aero
Fall off
Into the off ramps bridge
Onto
The freeways
Incoming traffic
Levitated, watching myself
Crashing
Going numb.
No longer masking.
My actions.
my actions.
cause they are there to see
From the bridge
Lights flashing
Honking, speeding
passing
Cannot flee.
Hitting elements.
Fire, cement, gust of mighty winds
glass, clashing.
With a subtle gentle breeze
I am there
I stare
I am surrounded by the abyss
Our life
They are there
O' so aware
We conversating without words
Bliss
Awaken
We all are bare
Naked
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 5:21 PM UTC
some of the “greats” are walking among us
making eye contact upon our sidewalks
sharing sweaty seats on our buses
eating tempeh and salad at our cafés
lying next to us, sleeping, in our beds
we shop at their record stores
throw dollars in their guitar cases
curse their driving on our freeways
art and history are presently in motion
the past is just the place where we idealize them
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 12:34 PM UTC
bone is bone is bone
is bone.
my hands are forever too tiny,
my hips forever too big,
and you forever the girl
who’s always wanted to leave.
when we first met you talked of
hating the palm trees seventy degrees
traffic clogged grit and smog,
graffiti covered rat sewers
mansions dotting all the hills
and everything else i’ve ever loved.
i reminded myself that some people
need more than a place with
hundreds of stars on the sidewalk
but hardly any in the sky.
when i think of superpowers
i imagine being strong enough
to carry manhattan to you on my
shoulders and all your rain clouds
in my arms.
if you ever turned fragile i would
arrange a fortress out of skyscrapers
big enough to cover all the hills,
and with tiny hands i’d point
to the clouds and make them fill
the sky outside your window;
white as bone, as bone,
as bone.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
Under the enigmatically colored sky, I did wait,
in the place where you were expected
days, nights, weeks and months passed by,
years added their handiwork on my body,
but my spirit, refused to fail, kept awake
I traveled through the freeways of the sky,
learning the art of flight, all by myself,
asked the birds repeatedly about you
except the time they sang how you inspire
but they remained mute to my questions
"Fly towards east
where light is" I heard a wise one say
I found light at the dawn and struggled
to keep it alive at night, only thinking
about you,I needed the heat to survive.
In the blue watery depth of the sea,
I dived, heard the music of silence.
It was your paens silence kept on singing,
Through the fertile planes i walked,
saw the corn speak of plenty.
you bestow on us, the peace it brings.
I wandered through the mountains and hills,
the grass was green and flowers on the vines,
had fragrance that reminded me your presence,
ripened fruits hanging on trees spoke
on the sweet love we shared.
Though you were away from me
and i wandered with a heart full of questions.
A song bird on the tree of wish sang,
it was all about your love for me, I was amazed,
my weary head paused and felt peace at last,
I fell in love as the hands of mountain wind caressed.
In my dream you came and sat near.
I was transformed, did I wake up from that ecstasy
or am I still asleep,I and you are no different.
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 11:02 AM UTC
with my head behind a cloud
thoughts ping pong around
drown
drown
loserdom in a stip mall parking lot
kicks against the curb
three quarters and a fist
life a near miss
sweat steaming the distortions of the face
cops handy mans hookers and housewives
l.a., l.a. l.a. paved my brain
a candy bar and a bar and a heat wave
and a drawn on face
l.a., l.a. l.a. paved my brain
and a tic tac toe hopscotch foot tied race
l.a., l.a. l.a. paved my brain
to an anvil off the top of the capitol building beauty night line daytime sky sky orange high
touch me
somebody
reach out and ***** out my stutter heart time cvrime buy buy buy
not buy me anything
feel me something
feel
what?
who am i
satturday or Tuesday or Noday
cement
pavement
horse drawn nowhere
freeways
freeways
thunder
4/5/10
219pm
Apr 5, 2010
Apr 5, 2010 at 1:22 PM UTC
sleep
is just a metaphor for
deep dream seeking.
chasing dragons & demons
through a seamless sequence
of events which
defy all weakness
with tongue in cheek
& grinding teeth
toward bedsheet beacons
bright light beams
that scream through
bleak dreamscapes.
but better your head
than these streets & freeways..
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 6:49 PM UTC
of course I'd want you to come visit me in New York
take the subway to off broadway
make snow angles in Central Park
buy overpriced latte's in the glistening rain
but there are invisible bounds
and I must restrain
the bounds of a city
then marked by footprints
replaced now by loud freeways and hippies
the bounds of downtown
once marked by trees and spring beauties
roots once tangled and over grown
cemented over now by sidewalks and shows
the bounds of two souls enveloped in love
as friends not lovers
soul mates, kind of
if I move away
do the bounds bend and sway
or like a string break
and disintegrate away
Mar 5, 2021
Mar 5, 2021 at 2:47 AM UTC
I am the emptiness that exists in the kitchen
at such hours, late and lonely.
I can operate only in this space,
at night when the answers become irrelevant
and the present tense becomes the past.
I rely on the sporadic sounds of movement of traffic below the window.
I am the scratchy sound of death cab
on the Buick’s aged speakers.
I claw at the insides of the aluminum
and seep out through cracked windows.
I shore myself against a distant past
despite better judgment.
I am born of the vivid summer heat.
I ride the train to the loop
and back out to the city’s extremities,
like blood through a body.
I sweat under layers of wool humidity.
I am the concrete paving the boundless suburban streets.
I exhale tar and forest
as the rain begins to fall, long after dark,
cooling the still-hot surface.
I crave the tires and feet that brace themselves against me.
I am the slow moving clouds at dusk, the color of tea.
I ignite as the sun slouches toward the horizon.
I consume the jets that depart from O’ Hare in every direction.
I am familiar laughter, striking ears in palpable waves.
I move most freely though vicious August heat,
But even in such passive chilled air, I proceed.
I careen toward what has been named peace,
though it’s been forgotten over the years.
I have fled the immortal city for one more ageless.
I crave the smell of the death of summer.
I pass into a state of suspension
like the bodies that surround me, never born but built.
I trace the veins and find no flesh,
but only bones beneath them.
I stretch willing to bridge the gaps that exist.
I am the tangled freeways moving among one another
in the heart of a city accused of being heartless.
I am guiltless in the face of isolation.
I hold blood hostage on a daily basis.
I am lethargic, gold-soaked afternoons
Bearing such spacious skies.
I lie beneath gilded light
like the lazy palm lined streets.
I am the trembling airwaves,
And I disarm the distance itself.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 10:10 PM UTC