If the clouds could whisper, upon thy cheek.
Etched memories of time reflect a rose tinted glare.
Shallow thought do quiver,
when storms brew with fear.
Chaos juggles north.
The mind glides east.
Voices heard, are twisted vines.
The third eye weeps.
These astral planes-
plead to be seen.
Uber travels, bumpy road. Air tinged with smoke. Nauseating aroma. Cars. Cars. Cars, homeward bound. Motion sickness creeps on in. Phone, typing, pot holes jagger on. Radio sound, white noise voices. Mainstream Radio overrated. Talk. Talk. Talk, nothing smart is said. Traffic light. Red arrow. Can not turn. Coffee sign, craving caffeine. Benches empty. Roads are full. Typing, typing. I have typed.