The knife of a painter
stuck with charcoal black and a tinge of white
the horizon meets my view - a
black hole, with nothing left but emptiness.
One tilt of my head would reveal every
star for miles, but the line holds my concentration--
comforting and calm at ease with itself and the world.
To disappear into his darkness would bring serenity, erasing
the days tribulations - the thought of a mind's impasse--
the headlights from oncoming traffic
suck me back down to the center of my world, where
unanswered resumes and broken family ties
are the stars in my back seat and the
road ahead is the tunnel to my elusion.
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