mumbling words
as the bus bumps
along the distresses
of this highway of notions,
of emotions, I have kept
ingrained within the coal tar
over which I drive the roller
of my communication, of things,
I tell you from the blanket
of night, breathing stories
not of stars, but of their images
that glint in the mud pond of life.
A little too urgent now and then,
I may have you see
the ills of my voice, but
what can I do, when
my truths are hollowed out,
distresses formed along this road,
where you don’t know, but
I let you know everything
.
HA's Place 