My head
hangs like a broken crane.
Listening to the vultures
eat the eyes
from fresh green-gone-grays.
The sputter from a mental gasket
the duct tape binds memories
and holds in unhappy ribs.
These words will take any exit
they can.
my finger forces dew across the glass
entertaining the moment
letting prior engagements
and urges unsatisfied
fall victim to an apathetic afternoon.
A telephone that just wont die
blinking early warnings
cascading thoughts
played out on a motion picture ceiling.
messages thicken the plot.
the lighthouse never spots the rolling fog
before the cargo is a mercy to the tide.
all in a nights work.
I could almost sleep easy.
knowing these letters might find there way
to gods ears.
this never was a prayer for salvation.
Just a thanks for listening
for a moment.
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