March 8, 2019The lullaby incongruent and dissonant, lacerated further cries.
We begin this way, always, you and I.
Waves crashing against monoliths betwixt the foggy haze outside
a modern windowed home.
Crowded and alone.
Seagulls sing not of you.
Hunting always hunting that old prey; feet striding through the years.
Once adobe, now cold stone.Worry not with winds so piercing, designer clothes insisting amid a layered background glare of natives unaware.
I want to stand still like the hummingbird
but
instead I lost myself upon a
dare.
∞
