Abounding,
a new suspicion.
Your history, like the sky's immortal smile in a sunbeam,
but you're not there.
I want you,
you were of the stars, and their pulsing radiance
is what mortal beings bask in, ignorance a final plea.

I search in the vanity of the town's conquests, every time it ever
won your witty reserve - search the gratitude of the folk, I search
their laugh lines for life's thanks
To see if they bettered you, are they worthy?
- some are dull as planks.

I was masquerading
as myself
In the garden, in February;
You'd had
your birthday party
a hundred miles away. You wouldn't see me
But I found a flat helium balloon
as I circled aimlessly around the garden.
Out of gas, it had landed, with a
tail of silver & purple party streamers.
A miniscule coincidence; as
I laughed into the fervent air,
the cold wind was no longer gusting.

It's imperative to me to believe the universe has a centre, well, the Milky Way has one.
Solar System, too
What if, what if
there is no centre to anything and it's tragic the Sun has to think for the planets - elastic bands, floating soap bubbles in a bath

And just to prove a matter of fact
suggest love to everybody you find___

Now is the burden
Then is rumination
Ruination of burrowing into a psyche that didn't care
Looking out for a joker who wouldn't breathe fresh air
Much obliged to
   not say

Images ... essential
Undulating greetings, precipice and a giddy orbit
sunset rhythm

The imaginarium speaks for itself
It isn't a rough & rumble place
                      and inferno
                               or a monastery
but  
       semblance of poetry
                         slice of junkfood

     - escapologist