Cool breezes herald the arrival <br />of neutral sanity among the folks <br />who pitter patter through the streets <br />relieved yet ever saddled with <br />life's promissary notes, in gold. <br /> <br />Then there is me, a stranger now <br />a drifter with unknown intentions, <br />a jaw so tight that people hear <br />the grinding of the trusty molar guard. <br /> <br />A monkey, stuffed, hangs on a string <br />and sways above the rosewood dash <br />as if to show appreciation for the tune <br />of melancholy and bipolar happiness <br />content, agreeing with his master <br />both demons of insane velocity. <br /> <br />He nods his head and grins with teeth <br />so white that silent lightning flashes <br />accompany the alabaster dance <br />of straight Teutonic lines, dividing <br />as they do, so orderly, within the law <br />the cubic inches of the ones who have <br />from common citizens, still filled with hope. <br /> <br />As clouds appear to hurry home <br />to some unknown and worthy paradise, <br />he bites his nails in bitter privacy <br />only the monkey senses the uncertainty <br />so unaware of it, oblivious to destiny.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/his-travels/
