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Song of NumbersMy life is a song written by numbersbut it won't ever add up to s(um)thingI wake when dreams take me to familiar places (faces)open the blinds that do not protect me from realityI look out the window into the artificial worldand long to return to where the hills capture the fog and disappear to where the valley oaks are far from the valley and weep from age and where it's not my own tears staining (raining) these double panesI turn on the light turn it off turn around and forget to turn it back onThe coffee here is too bitter and it burns my throat
Calodendrum capensetree,stands hidden beside a pale yellow box of which our minds are trapped by ideas that tell use to think outside.friends, siblings, or strangers, with stark and branchy mazes of twigs, ligaments and veins, reach for comfort (light) the optimism of spring.lonely leaves, left by the cold snap and abscission their 'what's wrong with us' whisper breeze a lullaby of longing for the ground and autumn's warm blanket.the sweet, bitter aftertaste of coffee mixes with essence of cloud in each inhale;