The Blue, Blue Sky

The three pandemics have killed all color. Maybe there will be a growth of new color.

But I’m wondering if the sky will close. I thought of the sky as permanent.

Or protective anyway and when I was a child I sent a letter to God there.

If the sky closes, their will be a protracted disembodiment. Once things were better. Jersey cow was pleasant to look at.

I miss the scent of yesterday. The seat of my solidity. Neither mindful nor muttering.

I cannot dream my hero’s dream. Can’t format my need. But I honor the depth of your eyes.

Fascist Headlights

No more greater good—sold for cheap. The darkness spreads and one loses the territory of the self. Becomes a person of forced circumstance; an immense solitary.

The guardian should have come. The guardians’ footprints kept me on a high.

The furniture is askew. It has been transplanted and does not fit.

The ego rants and sheds its skin. Truth is pudding, up for grabs.