Hacking at the wind
Swinging wildly
Arms sore
And thoughts numb
People gaze
And murmurs erupt.
Stopping the noise
I stand in their midst
Focused on the air
And conscious of the futility
Inflating my ego
As I play a role
Of an iconoclast
Oblivious to their minds
And weary of mine.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
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