There aren't any teas in fussnik's Cupboard yet.
Every day I wake up, and I crawl out of bed,
Waiting for love to make its way
Through the war zone in my head.
Every day I turn away from the glass
where an old woman sits frowning
as wind blasts pages from her calendar.
Every day I wait for the parole board
To decide I no longer need
Solitary confinement.
Every night I stare out into dreams
Ready to fly if only
I could find my hands.
One day I will find the treasure in emptiness
Absence will fill with presence
Shadows give off light
Carmel, CA
