blue 2

Painted portrait porcelain sky. The threes, the trees dig in from the rooms, the roots – And stretch out endlessly. Yes, arms alway reaching. Savior song – lullabye-esque. Vocal sedative dripping downwards through an open New York City apartment window in the heat of summer, in the nighttime. He sits on the sill and nostalgically gazes outward from this brick building and in the faint distance beyond the traffic and din of voices below, one can hear a saxophone running scales. Mosquitos swarm and dart and become a second skin for some. And we must just suffer through it. Guarding gates and attacks and those who keep our country safe. It must be a hard job. And I am grateful, but I do not envy it. Copy / paste. Amusing bass line from a passing car. There is noise. We are people under this blue sky dome. Water world incasing crevices. Duplicate maelstrom of repeated history. Scented markers in kindergarten. I should have checked it out first. Crayola guarantee. Salamander designated to slither and dream under mud, keeping watch and sleeping with one eye open. Respiratory dawn with that first inhale of bated breath. The clouds puff and start, smoking certainly. Divisive, cutthroat factory industry. We have not involved. Everything has just fermented.

Author: Roe

30. she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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