Andrew
Forestry
Jun 15, 2010
cutting circles in clouds
with your fingertips
the only way to pass the time
on rolling hills you can almost pick the planes
clear out the sky, no doves in sight
like ink blots with a hint of white
or sun spots that fade alike
days like these grow old with vines
that hang from the sky
wings give motivation
some wings
rust, in the morning
it sprinkles on your face
now I must wake up, said i must wake up
or erroneous is this place
becoming clearer than blue sky
that reflects from the surface of my
and I'll bet on the oncoming planes
they litter the lonely
with fields of broken glass rain
turn a trail to dust
to sideswipe those plains
and the forest is tapestry for some
at the ends of yesterdays
and it's only a question of how far must we go
before our latter day joints erode
paving the way for travelers
just below the roads
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