.

Though you might hear laughin', spinnin' swingin' madly across the sun
It's not aimed at anyone, it's just escapin' on the run
And but for the sky there are no fences facin'

.

What then is absolute freedom? Is it riding down a highway with the wind in our face, your hair windswept and the tarmac stretching like a silver slipstream across desert and fields of raining green

Or is it those fleeting moments which I mentally leave as a note for my mind, instances when for one intangible reason or the other i feel like saying, yes, this is why i love you, but i don’t, for fear of disturbing the stillwater magic of the moment

It is this, all this, my Shekure – along with the fleet flooted rhythm of these words on this blank page, waiting for mystical sans serif meaning to be imprinted in this staccato frantic recording of the awake

I have suffered, i have felt the night grow long under sweltering howl-ish rooms with oblivion always that inch away, i have suffered the pinpricks of voices causing butterfly-effect havoc with observations bursting into sunstorms obliterating the sky

And then, just when i think it has been too many days since the shipwreck, no land, no ship, no men are anywhere nigh, comes this floating log, rest my shoulders awhile

Blue smoke, slithering clouds before the monitor in a darkened room, drum hypnosis, delta, blue like the Styx, groaning Stratocaster,ashes to ashes, dust to dust

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