Thursday, March 18, 2010

Wake-Up Call

On the move
spot to spot,
gone noon
or higher

hearing the heaven
breathe in my ear,
bound for the quick path,
point to point,

but the sun in my eyes,
smoking where
staining when
in yellow heat,

in red blood
tunnels and branches,
splashing tissues and brain cells,

calling my name,
singing the praises
hot blood
does sing.

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