Rantings

Song of Happiness IV

I must shed this skin of scorn
Tear free this garment of
isolation

the wordless tongue idles in its spittle
the soundless struggles of my
solitude

Scratched and raw from this journey
the sloughed skin leaves its scabs
exposed

Wrench this insanity from my mind
spill these foul seeds , ungrown and
vulnerable

Musings

When traveling to an out of the way area , I always seem to find the locals to be hickish: Almost caricatures , with their bulbous features and blank-faced looks. When catching their eye , one sees only shallow and boorish thoughts , or if they are relatively astute or innocently moral , Sincere Vacancy.