Dream
I am flying dangerously low.
My shadow stains the broken angles of unconscious city.
Numb, icy fingers scrape the paint off passing souls.
Blue tears burn through the clouds to make sky bitter.
I sift through silver leaves of grieving, speechless fall.
I drop my watercolor moon on roof of crawling night,
I lose my strings of stars in narrow passes of this dream.
Black net of winds is calm and waits for me to fight.
My smile taints rustling silence of the brooding trees.
Your open window welcomes foreign air of sadness,
I slowly move to touch your life, I need you to remember me.
I see you closer than before, through silky gauze of darkness.
My breath is on your last words, off to the light of sea…
I am flying dangerously low.
December 2004
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Education is an admirable thing, but nothing that is worth knowing can be taught.
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