I’ll be around baby, baby, I’ll be around..
Days of the week make me feel like such a freak, as if horrifically scared and dwelling in the need to keep timidly out of sight. My eyes sown shut to avoid the hefty gaze from the single blind man in the adjacent bus seat.
Only then do I hear the lights, only then do I see the notes played by the flickering street lamps and neon signs.
Beads of tears’ slap the bus window as the clouds above weep the traditional verse as requested by the day time hours. I place myself at the waist of a woman, her aura so close and her mind so far, I mind as well of been stuck in a car with the warmth of a driver’s heart on the open road, and the wind from the crisp evening in my chest.
Only then does the beauty of the sax flow with the traversing passion of a day spent in the night.
My arms hug the back of a seat as I hide the better half of my face towards the gum layered floor. Thought I found Jesus with the way it had smeared.
While my blind man’s stare remains lost to the world though he knows exactly what he sees,
I know the warmth of a crippled old woman’s compassion and understanding as it radiates from her puckering lips, only then was my bitter heart sanctioned refuge upon the bus ride home
