Conscious Sessions

I couldn't tell you when I returned,
But I can tell you that I burned
In the awareness of the bareness
Of these walls.
I painted them with empty intentions
Lacquered with the hope of
Divine Intervention.
But no work done.
But we jerk, son.
Colored up making noise,
Fired up girls and boys.
The bluest light
Face-to-face
In overlapping time and space.

It's been erased.
But faded lines mean brief recession,
When day is replaced with conscious sessions.