Wordlessly, head awry, cloud-legs crumbling
along unseen paths, groping, grasping, blind.
Feathered skull, flighty, now grounded, stumbling
onward past crater-claimed self, far behind.
The shell-shocked self arises, from pulp and body-grind
Fuzz stuck in skyborne visions, crashing down
new sight born, and old, cotton world, unwinds.
Battered still, fallen long, yet walks, a clown
no longer, no stranger to a grass-rock mind.
With wings forsaken, abandoned tin crown
Cloud-Sleeper, dreamless, rests in figleaf gown
and, daylight, stands in muck rain murk, to drown.
Drops fall, screams and sorrows, meeting the gray dawn
Struggle, strife, life streams out, yet life goes on.
Escape is needed, wings craved, crown retaken
As dreams of dirt-clad self are lost, to sleep unshaken.
What This Liberal Thinks About Islam
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