A new moon sky
stitched seamlessly
to a blinding blue afternoon,
bordered by ever ominous
thunderstorms,
raining down sun showers
on a mountain prairie montage,
as love takes
to celestial feathered wings
from the highest peaks,
while soul scarring tragedy
plays out its I Can't Look plot
respectfully
in the deep shadow
of cavernous metaphors.
Meanwhile the residents
of I Never Sleep town,
always over the horizon
on Hip Street,
tell rhythmic stories
of the mythic late night
through melodic moans
into soul damp microphones
as the gleaming population
of sway ready instrument
discover,
for the first time today,
that their voice
is more sentient then the ever touted
homosapien's course grunts.
This is beauty blended,
born from extreme
dissonance;
disorder damaged
minds,
souls,
hands
prove their unique flawlessness
as their universal flaws
drip
drop by drop
onto paper,
pooling into words,
flowing into
jagged
jutting lines of
“please, are you there?”
And I am.