sun surreal

 
 
looking for  
a way
out,
 
anyplace,
anywhere.
 
searching,
grasping,
 
looking for that little  
piece of blue in a  
wind grey  
sky,
 
the uncracked
sidewalk  
leading
home,
 
a leftover miracle
sitting in back  
of the
fridge,
 
the dog not biting  
the hand that
feeds
it,
 
walking with James
Dean down the
boulevard  
of broken  
dreams,
 
bread that isnt three  
days old and the  
smile of the  
bluebird.
 
but as the killer
hides in the
shadows  
of an  
alley,
 
as crows peck out the  
eyes of love in  
some Iowa
cornfield,
 
as the road less taken
is closed and under
construction,
 
as the axe falls
across the  
neck of
grace,
 
it is getting harder
and harder to
find a day
without
rage.