Durham, etc. Blues [pt. 16] (transformations, spring awakenings)
16
He was a prisoner to his follicles
a Samson hoisted blindly into
the light cutting through the vines
of a maze of beards and bards
You transformed with the Equinox
blooming in reverse amidst a
season of electricity
Shaving away one’s shield
your internalized metaphor
develops into a foil balloon
seeping helium, the voice of
your detractors scaling higher and piercing.
Man, I never wanted to be anyone’s
rebel or raconteur. I just wanted to
pour over some more about
the sudden cancellation of night
a new morn scattering stars
and clapping together dawn’s erasers.
Unearthed from chalk dust
I greet the day
in a new coat of warpaint.
