L, e, t, t, e, r, s sway-ing <br />da <br /> ng <br /> li <br /> ng <br />from nurons <br />as light harmonizes <br />tangible, <br />legible. <br /> <br />The mirror remains <br />yet unfamiliar. <br />My wheels have become <br />so brittle. <br /> <br />A comfortable shift <br /> drift of thoughts <br />eases the moment <br />like the sticky sound of <br />horns o <br /> o <br /> ozing through <br />the grinding static <br />of radio. <br /> <br />Suddenly, <br />a warm voice <br />saves me from drowning <br />in dark spectrums <br />of ink.<br /><br />Donald Fredette<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/etta-james-and-me/
