listening to the rain
knowing somehow that act alone
is about as free as we get
halfway across the country
in the middle of nowhere
someone with something special to say
back to the solitary nights
this pen is the crutch
can see as I walk from here to there
until morning and the eyes begin
to cross like they were t’s
until morning
when sun shakes water from leaves
behind the wall
underneath all the darkness
and rain written black ink white page
trying to fit back into my skin
after all these years
so many thoughts uninterrupted
dreams waking three
maybe four times
after sleep has come
nearly one am with nothing to say…
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