I leave out the who,
because of the why

In lieu of the why,
I leave out the sky

So

I look downwards to avoid it,
The knowledge hanging above,
dead-on-vine

I know intimately
the jaunty heels of the lucky,
the craven toes of the weak

I hate it,
the red of settings

And the sky still tells,
tells a story with ochre fingers,
that no-one lives inside another

09/30/2011

Posted on 10/01/2011
Copyright © 2024 David Maurice