Map of Lost Souls: Forgo the Shadow

There is a park across the street
with a bench where I go to sit,
and sitting, I smoke a rolled cigarette
and smoking I watch the sea that is not sea
but lake.

The water never looks the same.
The sky always means something different.
So much has to do with seeing,
which is not seeing, but an emptying
of the soul into the otherness of light.

Comments

Kush said…
Very honest poem.

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