no one's going farther than me,
than the wind that's blowing by,
the dreadful rain, the tears, and anger,
than the soaking daylight sun.
I laugh, at the sometimes,
and peel away the layers,
and scratch and bite and tear with fearsome force,
a blank face, cracked mirror,
dead eyes, dirt,
rain showers,
skies cry with the weighty feeling, despair,
and love, it's still there,
but tragic--
this rainy day,
buried in imaginations and books,
and driving, just flying, away,
no one's going farther,
not to those Last Places of Envisioning
Author notes
july 23
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