Rain dispersing with the wind.
Reality bursts in, guns drawn,
confronts only a blind man
in this house of mirrors.
Outside his almost hearse
riding on thin spoked wheels,
defined by its emptiness,
radio blaring anthems of my generation.
Shadows in the dark,
measured by marks left in soft flesh.
Tribulation brings rapture,
rapture brings the second death
which has unfailingly found me
late for the sky.
Rainbow that I knew isn’t there anymore,
leaving horizon unencumbered by distraction.
Carefully I scrutinize the paper moon,
can touch but not feel it,
can not be believed.
Unfilled promises, unimpressive surprises,
found in vacant bottles
washed in from who knows where.
Reality retreats, cylinders empty,;
I part the beads and enter tomorrow.