Cool, red sky morning. Purple poked a hole through the dusty black, anticipating arrival. A chirping reminder in the misty, morning march. Smoky clouds. Sweet the call to dawn.

Uptown a young man found his sea legs. Determined to do whatever it takes to conquer all the elements. A passing hand, corporate gang signs exchanged, as fury lingered in corridors beyond.

Whimsical patches of pillowed grey with highlights of maroon and white. Anxiety speaks. The gathering of personalities drowns out the voice of peace. Unkempt souls, denouncing their refinement offer rage and sage at altars on the subway.

We are dressed as the men who hold the pantry. In faith and depth we find shallow the public ponds of passion. Collecting dissipated heat we proclaim ourselves genius though others disagree.

Bring me those who would find their freedom. Defending with heart and hope the sweat of bloody brow. To build upon a dream of something left unspoken. A vision seen of places yet defined.

Incorporate the Gospel. Of flotsam and fealty, we pine in days remembered. Singing hymns and pious ramblings with words too large for teeth and tongue. The Brethren bid them struggle.

A bubble, a flower and petals strewn asunder. A murdered mystery of love. Bereft of the brief innocence in finding. We pitch headlong into the abyss of misunderstanding. Wanting what we were told was proper tomorrow. Holding to the hem of today.