If being born blind meant
I had to live my life
seeking pleasant sounding syllables
for some 30 some-odd years
in some hard shell of thick skin
under sunken hollow eyes
then it is worth a try to explain
where I am headed next
the impossibility
of ever looking back
or what it is like
to hold the hand of grace
when it rains intentions
over landscapes of possibilities

They want to teach you
how to suffer
with your head bowed
and wrists bound
drinking tears
off broken eyes
in the continuous flow
of horrid tradition

Listen motherf***er
you can still drive
across any state-line
down the darkest
streets at night
cigarette in one hand
other on the radio dial
Johnny Cash
never sounded better
and you’ve never
felt so good.