and i cry with tears if pure blue
for those who stood,
on dark corners,
in the shadows of the streetlight people,
or worse still,
in the white wash walled rooms of solid despair
feeling the pluses of lighting shoot through
and through
and through.
and the cold extended arm of metal
meant to help
only to hinder - to bruise.

i feel this exposure to you
and your dreams filled with beings
of unimaginable glory and joy,
but,
alas,
it was all collapsed
like a  fold out bed,
by the state of confusion,
of poorly lit pipe dreams
that are broken in every nuclear home.

inside every hole in the wall
and small opening between their eyes
there are things so beautiful in their construction
it is as if an architect has carved their name into eternity.