He who sees without eyes,
he who’s earth and yet flies,
he who lives and yet dies,
who is he?
He who speaks without thought,
he whose theft is uncaught,
he who’s desperately sought,
who is he?
When the dreamtime comes to pass
we will be but one at last
it’s 2am and i’m still lying awake
with thoughts in one hand and feelings in the other.
how can i go to sleep with a head full of stars
and my face running away
up into the sky
looking for the moon?
i sit and stare out the window
stare out the window at the brown dead grass
the dirty snow melting into muddy slush
the mud that is criss-crossed and destroyed with ruts and tire tracks
my face is a cage
and the doves inside are suffocating
in a pile of their own shit
my arms are broken wings
and their featherless forms are useless
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