Pierced with Sunlight
There’s a
conspiracy.
A plot.
Foul intentions.
Something bad
with an
evil heart.
Or maybe
it’s just
me, up
to my
old tricks.
Blame it
on the
sun glinting
off tin
rooftops
the time
of day
year the
disappearance
of youth.
But here
I sit
on my
fortress hill
the sun
ricocheting
off of
tin &
windshields
off the
dashboard
of my van
while I
record my
right to
live.
What life
has boiled
down to:
a yellow
pad a
pen &
my eyes
pierced with
sunlight.