Blue sky

Blue sky are you really blue;
deceptive plane, scattered
photons masking stars
and infinite space.

Or is that a lie too?

White clouds are you really
white; false shapes, a
collection of liquids
luring the
un-
conscious
mind into fantasies
of gods and monsters
and a meaningful life.

And I know that's a lie!

Dogs eat dogs.
There is no
Heaven
and
we
walk on
two legs only
out of shame.

I can't see the sky,
the clouds.

Grass
is a green mystery
littered with needles.

I go it alone most of the time,
leashed. Tamed to dys-
function.

Branded.
Suffering.

The
pangs
of an internalized
clock shake
my head
like
a
palsied
geriatric in middle age.

I can't go it alone,

I say to myself,
out loud, a
bus stop
savant
in
ragged
clothes im
too tired to repair,
too poor to replace.

I circle the drain
in an industrial
sky.
My
clouds are
concrete shoes.

I am not blue.
I am not white.

I am human
and
in-
human;
animal,
livestock,
laborer,
servant,
slave.

Deduct that from my pay!

I'm whipped.
I cower.
I can't
see
the sky.

Blue sky,
blue
sky
are you
really blue?

April 30, 2025