I am sitting here waiting for the revalution

as a spectator

conforming to an island

comuting threw the comuncation

and missing all the turns

i see small dots of light

pass by, flickering bulbs

blurring and dimming

we are all lost

on the highway

hitching rides

going in any direction

the wind permits

with pursed lips

and sucatash souls

we grow

in hairline increments

in our cement shoes

we sing the blues

till it belows

awkward and humble

there are only small rumbles

while i wait

for my earthquake

as it dictates

the survivalist soul

in the chaos

the bleacher bound waiter

is the worlds last chance warrior

wrap your heads around that one

and then unwrap it