faces wear me out
at night when overseas counterparts connect
sharing text of thoughts with context lack
but the truth is easier to twist with fingers
and not faces
nerves (like ice) exposed to the sun
he didn’t understand the artist’s heart
stolen up in misconceptions
for one moment to better understand
before judgement speaks
spaces and homes cook in the day
greeting the tenant to bake
in hot summer air is a fan-forced sweat
only left to title a friend un-met
living alone, i find sometimes i’m running blind
and into a wall
it’s bricks resemble shapes of faceless histories
now i’ve got to break it down
traces wear me out
breadcrumbs don’t always lead you back home
but down another path
so i’ll move forward as a bullet in the sky
sifting the clouds to drop down and into
the clear day tomorrow