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Wednesday, March 2, 2016

Broken Sunlight



Hours upon hours
I scan the world
through page after page
from a bundle of pipes
with leaky connections
I seek photos to thrill
or to inspire me
as I pretend I am Subhramanya
the second son of Shiva
I have to be someone

Here, I am in a park
full of broken
unrealized
or soon to be achieved
dreams
thumbing through page
after page of photos
as if I once
posed for a snake
near a soldier's grave
and want to find the negative
in a dead forest

Suddenly I know why
I am alone at this age
I was always curious
and with somebody else
in my life
I get confused about myself
a marble statue dreaming
of paper arms and legs
and about them always them

Age creates its own prism
from which some see
more than one color

for me
it's needy red
shifty red
tearful red
a genuine color
whose variations escape
the only light I see
Does Daddy Shiva approve?


Barry G. Wick



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