Tomorrow, my dear, i will surrender my eyes for you,
since i am blinded regardless by your senseless beauty.
i will uproot my hair and humble myself
before the face you put on and
burn incense of sage to cover
     (because you should love me).
We can shake our heads,
remember the times when we journeyed through the night
with glass walls around our auras
or spoke riddles to the walls of sound
and giggled like imps drunk on our own brand of evil
or were dragged kicking and screaming
back to our blissful misconceptions.
We chant like monks in
a wilderness of god's flesh, saying
we are not the  X  on society's forehead,
only that we were once confused
but we turned out the lights
and suddenly understood:
that sometimes life is the blue-gray
blanket we buried ourselves in once.
We get bruises on top and
hide our scars of fallen grace deep.
We time-share our creativity.
We lie down in cool summer grass with
grasshopper lullabies and drift, drift, drift
away twitching our eyelids to the
beat while we wish we were real.