I stand wavering in front of the stubborn wind
the birds are busy with survival and singing
the worms trudge through a blackened day.
There is a great and beautiful monument
of stoic moving clouds, humid changelings
and I am being pulled down to the other side of the earth.
I am going away in thoughts
down misty pathways of reason
bitten by your bias and angry lying
toiling in a field of impatiens
which are infinitely patient
I love to go away.
Your voice does not touch me here
your rushing needs are not fraught here.
A fat squirrel eyes me with suspicion
I am not moving I can feel my little heart beat
the swirling bed sheet memory snaps
against that stubborn wind
and the air in my lungs
crosses the great divide.
I wander through a maze of attitude
floating in blue vibration
but in the meantime
the ground beneath my feet
prevents me from falling
to the end of the absolute.
Be resolute in decay, stand against the stubborn wind.