There isn't any air.
Nothing is going in, and nothing is coming out.
The middle horizon stays a middle horizon.
There isn’t a sunrise nor a sunset.
It’s perfect, considering its methane country.
Explicit sirens sound off, with tales of emergency in the skies. Swinging and reading this newspaper is my apparent new pastime.

It’s time to go there now.
The City of cement, sleet and dark that makes itself visible.
Stacked sedans fill a highway stretching to Jersey.
Rain turns to splatter while I operate this vehicle.
Yep. I’m driving
I am in the driver’s seat, and I am driving in a gray sedan on a highway next to gray sedans.
Inches of ancient dust that could perhaps be classified as cataclysmic residue of a previous apocalyptic expanse has seized the City.

We count our blessings,
We love them so.

We leave at luncheon,
Linen and all.

Cradles have done rocked,
They have fallen.

The comfort of cloth and swaddle,
Is to be embroidered onto edges,
Yet to be unfolded.

In another pitch,
In some place between you,
and me and thee.

Placid.
Pope.
Pious.
Dope.
Drugs.
Police.
Smug.
Faces.
Mugs.
Acid­.
Lemon.
Ice.
Space.
Dimension.
Grace.
Alarm.
Grass.
Petrol.
Harp­s.
away
Task.
Eyeballs.
Zebras

Candy perfume
Cotton candy clouds
Unicorns drinking tea
With an umbrella made for three
Teddybears in suits
Ladybugs weave glitter
Blades and chocolate
Butter and veal
Soft and sweet
Timid and mild
Golden tipped chipped china
Eggs on goblets stand
A tap
A knick
A spank
A kick
And all you add is pepper
Until you sneeze
Baby candy bears
Minty chocolates
Melting fudge away
Breathing in peppermint tea bark tea
Basking in the muddled blend
Of pink and blue and stars and diamonds
The nighttime dreams to begin
Nonsensical tantrum of sleep
Of unnatural restlessness prevades
Another place awaits you
Deeply packed in salt
A well taken care of spot
Renewing the smell of steak, medium rare
Reds and white galore

the echoes of evil
Live on in our parents
will never stop
unless we remove the walls
upon which to echo.

waves crash like scrolls
on tan depths
holes in sand
demons in heaps


Starfish cartwheels
in ocean tides



relinquish    



All the points propelling
nosedive banks
dunes of lands forgotten
   never there
   always changing


a spare seaweed
to cover squares
of liquid candor and civilized speak
   a language only mean swans
          And tides can provide.