Why is the sky blue?
It splits the world in two
the womb of nature
where Mother’s hold their babies
And the soil is plucked by crows.
Soaring into the blue
Sculptures in the sky garden
Why is the sky blue?
Is it God’s eyes?
Truth is blue
clouds are puffs of conversation
Sky is language
Answer my question.
Why does my heart embrace the twigs?
The racing fawn wrapped behind a tree.
A couple of strangers crossing the way
The butterfly kisses of sun-rays
A chilling wind opens the door,
to papers, walls, appliances, rules, guidelines, and instructions, newspapers, and advertisements, tapes, and phones, connecting me to all the tears and laughter, headaches, and sprains, all the twisted lives tangled between democratic lines, hate spilling everywhere. All the answers are in the ratings.
But why is the sky blue?
The inner voice where gaps of expression are liberated. 