Titled with Untitled


The wind blows cold down these roads tonight.

The rubber pacing black tar punctuated with white.

Stars and no way to see them, dark sky bleached with light.

Closing red eyes, lashes to cheeks, I lull in false sight.



How to explain what has never been felt, like color without vision?  Busy either facing incomprehension or preaching to the choir.   Try to say: these thoughts, these foolhardy contemplations, are just interpretations based on sensations.  But lacking the talent for articulation (just gesticulation), words ring trite on the tongue and read without weight on the page.  Lacking energy, unable to dress them up pretty, I’m left feeling frustrated, disgusted, defeated, and petty.


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