all the poetry was written in white on Avakin Road

white against white, only a third eye could see

the trail of the words

spelling the code

that if arranged just right could set you free.

in blindness we step our feet down on stiff pavement we have laid

and trained our eyes to the emblazoned color of brick dramas

believing we were not written from the delicate writing undulating beneath our soles.

It’s the second white snake you see in the industrial revolution

It’s a big band song where the floor drops out

It’s the marching band playing

on Avakin Road

Where we follow behind to walk those stories out

Stamping on the delicate poetry, hidden white on white


to the current of lyrics that undulate beneath us

in tandem with the white snake of illusion

on the imaginary walk


Avakin Road