Basking in a filtered light,
Doused and soaking in a phosphorescent
Cocktail of fertilizer,
The faces of these flowers lucidly remind me,
Why the caged bird sings.
And I want to wake up,
With my hair growing roots in the carpet,
And under the heat lamp,
I'll find soul food.
Plastic and concrete riveted
With steel posts,
Will be my canvas.
As I romance the vanilla keys of the synthesizer,
The currents and copper wires
Will carry my thoughts like water droplets,
In a vapor somewhere in our polluted
Atmosphere,
To you,
In the doldrums of progress.
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