It's a sidewalk symphony/roadside suite. It's the trash-bag canopies on Eldert St. It's the blue hum broadcast through a common radio voices...singing...hard-times...rumors(stories)of creation. In trusting the impersonal much sacredness is lost. Most enlist and thus have missed the kiss extracted from the dust. And I've listened since my patience began and it glistens in the distance, standing in the footprint where I found my lover lost. Though it makes me tremble all these thoughts that I assemble fall like droplets in an ocean, waves surging, yet balanced like the tides. Mine is for the taking, every note that I am shaking falls like waves all around you. What colors have you sought from the demons of the world Segregated rhythms on the Bayou banks, the pearls of injustice the way the blacksmith pounds the heated rod, patience, the hammer knows. Thrice you have rescued me from falling grace; once when I was a beggar and you were the rain on my face, once when I was crippled and you carried me, and once when the blindness of others taught me how to see. Staring at the green that surrounds my pupils leaving bulletholes in the glass--the glass I was trained to see myself in, through two-dimensional bulletholes. I remember walking from the market to the park, streetlights flickered and your eyes grew dark. Paint me a picture darling, I'll put you in it. In the hands of warlords the concrete turns to prison yards and the corporate mind is pointing towards the capitalizing off ignorance, indifference, exploiting our inheritance. Lightning over the motel in Sioux Falls, South Dakota- the watchman checks a fuse. With his stoic black hair and his blue/green eyes--more energy than we know how to use. Here it doesn't matter how many mirrors you had to shatter on your way to get here--what colors have you bought from the demons of the world? Wider than a river and deeper still,the wounds of cruelty will heal themselves, I know they will. Slow changes, and gathering ourselves.