K. Brown II
in bed, a few moments past the prior day,
Watching the curtains bellow from the passing breeze,
The window ajar, voices speaking drunkese--
Maybe they too found the atmosphere shockingly
Intoxicating--that stuttering yowl language
Which only a best friend can understand,
A designated companion leading an askew buddy
Down or up the street, depending on an internal compass
Bearing, heading for eats, maybe towards home,
Maybe to relieve the soul condemned to the truth,
A wrath so damaging, so damning is reality, so
Difficult to escape except by passing out,
Cannot pass away for then you shall
See the light ripping every last ounce of myth
Out of the mind--half sane/half insane--where
Aloof guided by a ghost or an angel to a
Resting place, not knowing how you arrived,
But there you are, head spinning as the earth,
Motionless by gravitating others involved in
The world as you half say something to,
Yourself, wondering what it is you have said....
Full of uttering
sheep, finally falling asleep.
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