Walk Home
At first soul sounding silent depths of rage
I am dead drunk along a dark line
moving opposite the howl of four foot time
moving not like flat red cloth on a river flooding
to change the status quo
moving only gently into phase
still not alert, still undetected
still moving only by stray heart pulses exceptionally strong
moving suddenly by a once forgotten presence
upwelling
until I become a storm
my soft song carrying me into bright windows of
owls sounding silent depths of forage
and I shooting past branches
return to this place familiar
though not entire
Copyright 1994 Beridha.
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