A million birds

I could chronicle the broken record sound of a man's shoes draggging on the road. He wears the mask of anger while walking two dogs. One dog is black and one dog is white, the man can see but he lacks insight into his madness that's really sadness. Any feeling at all is cause for gladness cause nothing is worse than being numb, overdone and spun. Burn thru these layers one by one. Bark on a tree don't bark at me. These dogs and I, we circle the town, they read the scents, I feel my frown. Something amiss in my neural chemistry or it may be sunspot activity. I could chronicle the sound of each drop of rain that fell on my brain, a folk singer singing about a sea of pain or the pitfall of blame. These dogs want to get out of their fenced in yard they stare at me like I watch the stars. Their longing to explore is a resonation of my own resignation of feeling trapped in some way that cannot be stated. So I walk them for hours to regain my powers thru rain drizzle sprinkles and chronic sun showers. I could chronicle the sound of one hand clapping like an itch that doesn't get scratched or an egg that won't hatch. I could chronicle the lines on your face when you smile or the way a body feels when it has run a mile. Sometimes I paddle a week and a day waiting for waves to come my way. The ocean is dirty, polluted and brown it's the only time there isn't a crowd. I could chronicle the broken record sound that plays in my head or the sound of tears falling like rain instead and the sound of paws splashing in puddles of water. But the sun came out to stay today as the clouds like curtains rolled away. And the blue blue blue sky sounds like a million birds.