Two-hundred and Ninety: denim sky

strangers pluck oranges
and fling peels on pavements,
saving graces for private
moments.

the way i’m going,
with my windy mind
and gossamer steps,
i think i could walk
right into this denim sky.

traffic = spotlights,
blue jay fighting zebra.
remember:

stripes don’t make me a prisoner.
hit me. I am not a victim;
i won’t soap myself in orange hatred.

the way i’m going,
i think i could walk
right into this denim sky.
(i won’t explode, only
fade
like a sigh.)

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Published by

Alexia

I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

2 thoughts on “Two-hundred and Ninety: denim sky”

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