we are dead weight
when we wake;
blank minds shipped off
with tired faces
unwilling,
ready to be told what we feel and
how to do so.
– because
we’ve started seeing in nothing more than
black and white.
– because mornings mean sluggish pencils
on paper, not
sunrises or fresh air.
We’re taught to
look-straight-ahead-don’t-even-shift-your-gaze-for-screams-that-aren’t-your-own
so that we have become
The Blind Generation,
who would sooner swoon over a pop idol
on a tiny shining screen
all the while driving
under an elegant sky –
painted by the artists of passing,
bringing about the blue day,
carrying the dark
away with

clouds
of violet imaginations
and pink-white silk daydreams
that used to make us human.