1 writings to our mother
Your Freedom Isn ’ t Yours by Sid Baron
Is there a problem ?
Plastic lights
Strung on gold chain Burnt clean , and fastened
There is at once a mirror And a mourning That you see
Ever so disorientation and casual momentum ,
Morning fissures Black down ,
For words that just can ’ t seem To mean , quite what you Intend
If you intend , you see ?
And yet you say there is . And when you say there is Distinction isn ’ t made ,
Nor produced ,
Feeds through loops And faith Continues
Running backwards Falling forwards Angled inwards
Through wings tied Forward - forwars , for words
That just can ’ t seem –
Is there ? I don ’ t think there is .
Not found , For loss on aging ears .
Please decide , For I can ’ t do it for you
Is there a problem ?
Is there a problem , Well let me see ; What are the tropes