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