Random Unsorted Drafts

ejected from the serpent’s

lair,

I scouer the stars for signs of

life,

sustenance an absentee at the

core of self & weary heads need a

rest,

upon the shoulders of giants

a clown-face smiles:

at the pork scratchings

left on yesterday’s

plates;

on empty tables at

Inns now deserted and

bleak,

I scouer the stars for signs of life &

meaning,

hope my first abandonment;

the clown’s smile never

waning

The flashbacks,

sinusoidally like snakes

my dearest friends,

lack proper context as they

present themselves,

as they show me events: for real for sure,

I worry they might be; to a degree – true,

I fold my gaze inwards

onwards and downwards,

spiraling mindlessly into the

shards of broken glass,

I bury my unshaven face deep

head first

in the quicksands

of my mind,

wanting flashbacks of love

but none is coming

White clouds

I am no prophet

White clouds

Nor do I carry faith in prayer

White clouds

Through foresight I am blessed

White clouds

Without factories & planes droning

White clouds

Without their darkness pluming

White clouds

I see only white clouds

White clouds

I see only blue skies

White clouds

I see a better place

White clouds

A world recovered

White clouds

I see a future again

White clouds

Though I am no prophet

White clouds

Nor carry faith in prayer

White clouds

I am blessed

White clouds

Blessed to be me

White clouds

& in the blue skies up ahead

On white clouds bouncing

I am in truth

Without concern