Sunday, August 22, 2004

My eyes return my stare

Not far beneath some cumbersome surface
My eyes begun their search
Red, brilliant lights
Swayed by neon white
By rambling sounds
By crumbling melodies
By memories
By the past
By histories
By the plane of farmland faced by dusk.
The winds were blowing now west
The escape becomes the place of escape
Rushed through the door before we see
Back alleys
Dusty closets
Tough slaves
Given to fury
Waiting for those we do not want to meet
Seeking those holding a cigarette with others that they do not want
Hiding emotions a glut of the heart
Cannot tell them that I am different because then we would all be the same
Ghost corridors
Falling into the sword we have in common
My eyes return my stare