Uncaring Canyon
Dawn sighs a crimson vapor
along a beach of trolls
(pretending to be plastic things)
fond of gleaning the mind
leaving a trail of seaweed and grit behind
that stays with you till the ends
meet time....
The yawl is beached
skin blistered blue till white
listen to wind stories whispering
truth always lies somewhere between
pulp and rind-piper and gull
solitude and scream.
Take a picture of the sunrise
through the foggy lens of
a been there- done that life
but there are new things to see
yes, worthwhile things- aren't there?
Just pan offal from pristine.
and when you've reached
what you've had all along,
hide your disappointment cleverly
wear its flaw on your ringing finger.
I'm heading for unspoiled terrain
{hopefully sooner than later}
rescued from the hearth of a deepening canyon, called uncaring.
A one-way cool air balloon ride
into the lattice of heaven.
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