Print is stuck forever in my mind.
It lacks on wind of chance and stormy days.
On the end of promise and poverty,
nothing is secret not the wind, not the wind,
not the rain that falls in sheets.
I found myself walking like a shadow born from pain,
in my heart and in my head. I am one with the wind.
While tending the lion, I ask myself do you know what
you're tending or who? What flock, what face in the mist?
Happiness glows and glows and glows
and I am standing here, waiting for the bus boy to reinquish me
of my stale food and old plates at a restaurant downtown.