Modesty

It's the kind of morning

that starts late, when the clouds

embrace the land and the only difference

between day and night is thickness --

of sounds, of light, of mind.

 

Outside is a dream, a hazy replica of real life;

inside is bitter with solid lines and definition.

I work to forget the outside, conform

myself to the shapes of routine.

 

I see the obscure outline of trees and looming buildings

and I realize the nakedness of the world

and how we cover it up with cities

and paint grey ribbons of highway for definition.

 

I close my eyes and think about dreams

and the nudity of my soul; about the mist

that overcomes me upon waking

and the exhaling yawn.

I think about breathing.

Reviews

[Collect-Eye]

this is equal parts confident and fragile..skillfully executed between subjective and objective

always a pleasure to watch someone internalize imagery w/ an accomplished voice

it takes courage to incorporate standard tuning w/ the ethereal and dissonant

[deeps]

This is wonderful and beautiful, I like this

[Poeticpiers]

Beautifully presented stream of thought containg a whole lot of truth ivor