I Still Go There In My Head

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I see it as from outside a window,
Myself walking fast, head bowed,
Life happening all around me without sound,
Distanced even then, not sure I know why
The paces of development grow hazy around that line.

My heart was soft,
My head curiously empty,
A balloon floating along,
Not certain where she might belong
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Echoes Of The Ghetto

american back view burial cemetery
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A bright dot within the grey background of low slung houses

She kicks up no gravel as she walks

The silence of a graveyard but with homes

White cars in front like grave stones

Continue reading “Echoes Of The Ghetto”