Above me, below a canopy
of cumulus cotton, the nation's
symbol crowned in snowcap soars,
lost within the ecstasy of freedom,
but I am unaware.
Distance separates mind from body:
flesh assumes a metered cadence,
the brain is transported through
a portal of pain into a transcendental
state of mental agony sublimated;
rapt inside a warm, comforting
runner's high of rapture.
Midday July: the asphalt yawns
and mocks my labor, exhaling toxic
waves of heat from oasis pools
into an oxygen starved atmosphere
approaching depletion of life's
sustenance. The soles of my faithful
Asics Kinsei are just this side of melting.
Thirst quenching waters of the Illinois
taunt my torment; oblivious,
I am no longer in submission
to her "Siren Song", for I have
entered a warriors Peyote trance
Keep me sane; let me go,
one must create between the lines.
Mystic demons ebb and flow,
O joyous hope, to breathe alone.
Hints of light needs be shrouded,
lest the failing of the night.
Truth be nurtured deep in silence,
held safe within my bosom.
Prevent not the blind their blindness,
sight denies a shadowed realm.
Addled minds in lost discernment,
content within the blackness.
Caring sharing dreaming daring
grasping reaching high.
Nearing hoping encroaching approaching
drawing ever nigh.
Working seeking needing feeling
leaving blowing way.
Passing waning slipping fading
numbing fleeting day.
I sit alone inside
an ocean of people;
adrift in bygone reflection.
A promising past begat
the hapless present;
to a hopeless future.
Flashing amber lights
hypnotize, a brief respite,
anesthetic from truth, lost
inside the coveted numbness.
Cruel reality, joyous oblivion.
Sure, merciful dust to embrace.
Kevin Heaton lives in South Carolina, formerly from Oklahoma where he published Country Music. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in: Foliate Oak, Elimae, Counterexample Poetics, Nerve Cowboy, Right Hand Pointing, WestWard Quarterly and others.
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