it may have meant something

to wake this morning
with sad-eyed lady of the lowlands
playing in my head
(don't often have that kind of clarity)
but there it was

"...streetcar visions which you place
on the grass..."
and every recovery
becomes a lesson
a renewal to sing

there were many broken times
when the blood
left its path
when the drug-fired veins
lost all direction

until the inner voice
declared a refusal
to bow
to drown in the pity
of authority

thrift store clothing
lets the colors blend
their soft texture
shouts
survival

--- e b bortz