it seems my freedom is locked away
my love languishing in memory's clink
clink of shackles and
manacles of a prison invisible
but still all too real
at night in dreams I feel it escape
call it momentary holy flight
call it seeing, call it prescience
I see one possible future in glimpses
of wide open fields and sweat
and the smell of intention
i see another in unknown persons
lurid, secret, aroused.
understanding insanity does little for prevention
but freedom can be put to use.
About Me
- stumpgrounds
- pitch and drift of a boat upon the darkling sea as the city burned in the background and we ran ferious upon iron shod shopping aisles to the beat of a different moment implied nowhere as rhythm seldom is despite its possession of two h's one silent and one voiced in a dental fricative manner.
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