There is something to winding back watches
begging their forgiveness
a crowd stands before you
Do they know your name
the man of the hour
freedom - our religion
dividing and subtracting time
muted eyes- a circus- a crime
enjoying collisions
while some walk away
The audience always the same
the road speaks
I walk silent in your jacket
Etched in letters and sand scripts
begging to know the secret
all along not knowing
the answer to my own messages
the only thing that is
dotted I and punctuations to metered rhyme
are finished by
you
Freedom is my name
Air is my love
you are my sky
if this finishes your sentences and phrases
I can be the audience with finished irises
with lost puzzle pieces that along the way make a picture
of roads that meet
in the middle where I know your name.
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