I just inhaled and exhaled
and a cloud of blues in confusion
in the shape of smoke-storm din
swirled about and in my frail, worn head.
“It wasn’t unwarranted”
my deep mind angrily, justly said;
head in hole, I swore in it,
“That sweet kind of obscure clarity
that can blow pure in shared air
passed around with cackling, crackling glee
can cure unbending, cracking,
false clear-eye-claiming mentality.”
Then, slowly, the response came
like a punch thrown from periphery
“Then use those troubling blues
when passions run old, when cold pains veins
sluggish with an untold complacency that you must unsettle.”
