Words Before Noon
This space is infused with daydreams, cupids, and safety.
The monster’s roar here but have never been encountered.
It’s as if I’m watching a lightning storm from an indestructible snowglobe.
Bright lights and smashing sounds lull me into a wonderland where my mind is now a mosaic.
Colors, trumpets, and saxophones glide through my ears.
For now, I am nowhere else but New Orleans.
Tasting the spices in the air I hear an old church bell ring sending me to the Muslim district of Arusha, Tanzania.
Four in the morning I listen to the bells and the prayers.
The window is open and the air dances down my spine like an old lover’s fingertips.
The breeze picks me up and moves me through the night sky with little effort merely to be replaced by ocean waves.
Looking up I see nothing but the cliffs of Southern France and taste only dark chocolate and sea salt.
Feeling the water wash over my chest in the same fashion of silk sheets I’m washed back into this space.
I’ve been told artist are not of a sound mind… Why would anyone ever want to be? -A.W. McLaurin
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Words Before Noon This space is infused with daydreams, cupids, and safety. …