These Walls

Monday,
July 04, 2011

2:15 AM

As a matter of
fact,  I’m feeling manic.

Queue unshackling
cackles of unchained cacophony.

If I were blind
still would I have seen it,

made so tame the
standards of derision,

that too, all as
well, the rain unfolded,

the water wasted on
the symbolism,

defeatists daunted
by a thunderclap,

arise generations
redundant to the aftermath,

counting the
Mississippi’s overhead of me,

feigning knowledge
from the wisdom

of story tellers and
firecrackers,

detracting from the
planar view,

seizing flat lands
where grass and grain once grew,

until the failing of
the thoughtlessness

the tide rose, a
thorn, a fragrance,

mistaken forms of
woe and awe was this

the object force is
facing us.   

Brace yourself for
this.