April and my head is still
Full of obfuscating snow
What do these mounds tell me?
That you cannot rush words
That even once blinded
The king cannot see
That in this vortex of independence
I am tethered to a single idea

There are times I would rather
Cleave than cling to the confusion
Of my startled sensibilities
Just to find myself anxious
To leave the confines of my home
For an everlasting bewilderment
Of solitary persuasion
At the shores of the sea
I long to enter


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s