• Writing Blind

    In Morning starlight,
    Eery,
    Bright,
    Blinding dark contrasts city lights.
    Smog,
    Is everywhere,
    Cloaking,
    My hand reaching out,
    I know not where.

    Safe in my bed,
    Pillow propping up my back,
    I recite,
    Recite blind.

    Recite blind.
    What is reciting blind?
    Words whisk,
    From a blue Bal pen
    Before thought,
    Words appear on paper,
    My subconscious speaks,
    To the reading ear.

    Alone,
    In threes,
    Words come in rhyme,
    Without reason,
    Flowing free,
    Making erred assurance,
    Unfamiliar presentations;
    Treatises of Tortoises,
    Raps about Hares,
    All fall,
    Placed with unstudied care.

    Blindly,
    Purpose without sight,
    I search through words writ,
    For the missing clue,
    A radiance,
    Lost in deep sleeping,
    My waking dreams.

    I write blind,
    Watching the world's pace out of time.
    How else,
    Than unthought though,
    Do feelings felt rise unrepressed?

    Wincing at wordplay,
    Like a punch to the stomach,
    Sharp rapping on the closet of reason,
    Fingers on the chalkboard of life,
    My thoughts:
    Fall leaves,
    Fall wind,
    Floating twists and jerks,
    Akin to how I put a shirt on,
    When I've just woken up.

    As my words on paper begin to bog,
    I give up,
    Heading out,
    into the smog,
    to feed the those hogs,
    On the lake.