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Your voice

Your voice

 .

 .

is always frantic, shooting like bullets

randomly into the air. Your eyes are electric,

tottering on insanity’s indefinable edge. At the corner, 365 more words

Allison Grayhurst

Mr. Militant Negro reblogged this on The Militant Negro™ and commented:

 

Your voice

  is always frantic, shooting like bullets randomly into the air. Your eyes are electric, tottering on insanity’s indefinable edge. At the corner, I see you. Myself, wanting to avoid the face I once believed in, wanting to slow and vanish before you lift your head and see me – bright and unaware of the hesitation I harbour – pounds in my pockets, I have nothing to give you but trite formalities and the illusion of ease. I have finished with you long ago. I have been raised up from my desperation. I carry my lamp, fuelled by a trust in something better. Your son, like you, has a beautiful smile. But in no way can he hide his drowning – lingering for years on fear’s full shore, serving his dark mistrust and the cockroach he keeps under his bed. Bless you both. Bless you for the green grass you tried to grow. You reached, but never far enough to make a difference. I have no hatred. I have no longing. I have only forgiveness.   Copyright © 2010 by Allison Grayhurst

latino american

I have dig in to old archieves. Rio de Janerio trip July 2013. Many street art, many street photogophy to share in the next couple of weeks.

Photography

Tell Me When My Light Turns Green

Listen to: Tell Me When My Light Turns Green (John Peel Session) HERE

Sheffield