Underground Feedback

Stop pushing and wait for the next train.
Step away in the back.
There’s a train directly behind this one.

At the bottom of the valley sits a thick layer of fog,
tightly sealing my deepest emotions.
The forms I’ve been given holding me from an early release.
There’s no escape valve, no furlough will be extended.
I exist in my cell and watch the sun rise and fall.
Slowly, it becomes apparent that there is room beyond
the lines on the page, the borders of my canvas.

Each brush stroke accentuates
the way in which I contemplate your beauty.
Each word connects
another observation, as I stand chained to the next convict.

In a line we collect garbage from an empty beach,
in an empty place, on an empty plane.
In the distance I spot clean waves breaking
to the gentle kiss of a light offshore breeze.

The sun in its glory has reduced your pupils,
as it would disintegrate tiny particles that float freely
in the salt water, sweet azure clarity.

Suddenly, the shackles at my feet split open
and I find myself running across what seems
to be a mile of hot white sand.
Barefoot, the burning grains quicken my pace.
I’m in a race to see your smiling face.
Inhale, exhale, and launch over a breaking wave
into your cool embrace.

The train screeches to a halt and I try to exit,
but all I could see is your soft skin.

©2005 Sean Muzzy