Across arid airs and vast wastelands
Layered lairs, places –
without
care or cares. Tis there – Where
A hand picks up a pen
Eyes, poetic wheels, beginning to spin
Upon a poetic wheel:
Giving
it
a
Spin. A battle
on
The frontiers of self. To lose
Or
To win. The only
way
to lose
being – to give in
To give up on the vision
Seen. In
That scene. Where
Spirit meets being. Such sights to be seen.
Living this dream
***
Cipher
Pohms
***








