the wind was editing my thoughts as i walked.
forgetting mathmatical equations of geometry
and glad i would be tested in other ways,

i walked, aimed directly at my coming day;
what was to fear? daily grind? i grind
with the best of them. i grind minds.

the slag of days gone by make a trudging
effort about going to the font of life;
exchanging blindness for sight, seeing.

yet taller shoulders of walkers before
allow only so much of the road to be seen;
a curve is always await; always alluring.

towing their heavy past, a paper bag Crown
for shield from the hard worldly elements
and their legacy following, in turn leading.

music of space accompanies the movements.

09/11/2008

Posted on 09/11/2008
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