Black eyes dreaming
feed improbable gears.
Lost in seat belt
not watching road.
But those flashing colors
only seen when eyes closed.
Each somewhere beyond
what eyes expect.
So keeping both closed
wander around room
trying to figure out what's seen.
And this in silent air
bleeding November heat.
Seeing blank drunken eyes.
By: David E. Howerton
[11/06/2007]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem