deepundergroundpoetry.com

know your place

It's morning again
and the dead rocks of this city
hiss in the rain.
The cold rain
inspires these hands
to pale, desensitize, stiffen
to match my mind.

My mind could use
a snap. Anything to resuscitate it.
I'd take an explosion. Defibrillation.

The world seems
like it just doesn't want
gray. I'd settle for black.
Maybe I'm just paranoid.
Maybe it wants to be gray
while wanting more.

Perhaps
I'll try to
fly today.
These decaying rocks
bruise my stiff hands
anyway.
Tomorrow
will be
azure skies,
floating, sailing.
The backdrop
will always be gray.




* written in response to miki's "complete the thoughts..." thread. *
Written by mjs211 (MikeTheEngineer)
Published
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