Thursday, June 26, 2008

Poor Immigrant

The perfect fact practiced imperfectly
A proven lie
Motion without velocity
Season without sound

I am still yet the galaxy hurdles past me


Startling acts of reason
Alienated majesties
Flung from the roof
Aspiring to be airborne


I am frustrated with my inability to fly
No matter how great my desire.


Who comes to this poor, dark place seeking reason?


No comments: