Thoughts of Freedom

The cold black night that once caressed me
Now rejects me in your eyes
And in the sideways glance
of the thick-wristed girls leaning restlessly on the bar

Where there was once the safety of the piercing stars
Lighting my way through the refuse into the hungry night
Now there lies broken shards of the early spring moon
Scattered about the meadow from God’s hand to my heart
The last vestige of a fragmented paradigm lingers on my tongue

The taste is foul but familiar
The taste is foul – but safe – for me
The thin-fingered hand pushes me out
Alone into the cold black night
Where I am deceived by my own thoughts of freedom

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