I sit inside of quitting time
I can see the paradoxical rift,
The give, the take, the sleeping awake.
So long sweet swinging vine
Your tail would wag if I could see it,
The backward sway, the pulling away, the not today.
My mind becomes needles
Someone else’s work is better,
The itch, the constant twitch, the forward pitch.
Sounds like clouds surround me
I can never understand the dream,
The chase, the place, the steady pace.
Grinding up my feelings now
Loathing lost continents and distant stars,
The curious, the furious, the down right delirious.
Sight is feeling outside the real
This is how I become free,
The stand, the hand, the promised land.