Turning wry to soft-
my smile knows the backroads to the waves.
Understand: these are tiresome burdens which have
tempered the soul
A heart strains like maroon goodbyes
and tubes of trains.
Three wheeled bikes and willow the wisps
have arced my memory.
Factoried beliefs split open the comet's glow
and drip drop tears forever & ever reign.
Harness these hands!
For they are better suited to destiny
Than free will.
(tho the confus'd heart will still ache for such vivid freedom)
Stone to sand &
sand to glass;
The rich shards imbedded in thought
A fever to red
and a hollow earth's bed
Is all the magic that's left in me
Save a bow to rain
and a feather to feign
Sheer flight over mountains instead.
..............................................
("Well even my best friends....
Even my best friends, they don't know...
That my job is turnin' lead into gold.
It's a hard road, it's a hard road, daddy-o
When your job is turnin lead into gold."
-Van Morrison)
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