Rare window cracks
with screeching refrain.
As cold reality hacks
at all the past's pain.
Dream dark now lifts
whether wanted or not.
Bright hard light drifts
over things best forgot.
Before turning away
once more as you do,
the mind has its way
and quick thinks it all through.
Then again it all slips
like countless times past.
A thousand bad trips
blown away in the blast.
Back on your own
where all real artists go.
All reason now flown
in infinity's fast flow.
Taste white noise tang,
dropping fast from the fray.
As the old window slams bang,
from far far away.
Brett A. Jones, 2015
