I’m blind to your view

stumbling in the dark

grope shapes, tastes, colors

red is danger.

I found my way back

by a grief scent of smoke.


Step outside myself

and see into the abyss of the night

floating above them,

 not falling into it.


I hate the shibboleths,

can’t follow the train

as if it was happenstance

we are here.


20 Oct 08

Dave Barber

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