The road

In the road lies being, my essence. These leafy banyans on both sides dictate the timbre of my words ,where they bristle at their edges, in their leaf-ends mired in blue.

A miasma in body affects my time and eye-sight of my mind, in its purity. Like the illusion in the flamingo land where boat is tucked in the bottom of an afternoon bog when flamingos yawn in the sleep of distant lands.

At times a bearded traveler arrives with no sheep, only ancient drums. His sheep will not nibble at our leaves, as time hangs heavy in the blue sky.

I take words out for their meaning and to examine the mind’s contents.The road for my journey has its end hanging in a loose sky, remaining wherever it is, with its feet bound and extremely mired in memory.