Birds Flying High

It's finals time. So I am writing.

A book bends with words and phrases

it takes us all to unknown places

the wind it swishes the atmosphere 

and spins the turning leaves on our ears.

The rain it falls: falls. falls. falls.

Like the Native past -- it calls. 

Swing and jazz waft in the air

like cigars in the tasteless American air.

'Breeze drifting on by, you know how I feel?'

Like songs we hear swiftly as times flies by.

Empty coke can, no words can I express

how the world is found is such distress.

Blythe. A word that comes to mind.

Like the stories of old -- we all have a time.

Freedom oh ring out of what

words that are empty -- like my coffee pot.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Birds fly high.

Onward. Onward. 

Fleeting through the sky.