Up There
James McGuire Sludge mixes with the snow. Mud captures flattened cigarette butts in dirty ice. And I trudge on Under the cold. The streets plot in silence. The buildings snatch at the sky like meadow grasses And cars are rusting And a yellow glove is forgotten. And ideas are crowding each other like mad dogs licking and drooling in a pack Thoughts are lead. Hope lies robbed. But I look up and see the blue sky searching forever for the edge of its canvas. And up there are clouds And a new space. Up there is enough room for the mad dogs to run and run and run, to tire in cirrus. And up there thoughts will do yoga And swim next to nimbus. Up there we can laugh and play and dance and not worry about dinnertime because when we need to leave We will rain down.
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