tired

Voices scramble thoughts all over the forehead

Like a kool aid rash from hair dying.

What can you tell from fallen locks

Collected and wrapped in prayer flags

Storied at the feet of marriage storks?

Will they take on some meaning?

The silly looks, smiles and smirks reveal nothing.

A black toque hides,

The altar carefully kept to honor

Nothing less than a life of sand and ash.

I am tired, beloved, of opening my heart

To the want of eyes,

Vibrating fully into empty space

Marking time.

I rub the darkness alone, here, under

the cracking plaster of the cold. 

:: Note :: ... tired ...