Her name was _.
A 'Queen Elizabeth I' wannabe wearing denim -
jeans with a Humble Pie t-shirt ...
A burgeoning ******* who ruled the cul-de-sac with -
long flowing hair , cobalt blue eyes and backseat tricks ..                  
She barely recognized the losers ,
a club I reluctantly commanded ..
Her Knights were the "adults" , the -
"cig" smokers , the acid rockers and the
May Jane enchanted ..
Alas , love in '78 could be hit or miss ,                                                        
those ignorant uninformed romeos awaiting the revelations of a petri dish ..

A rainy day brain bursting -
at imaginations spillway ..
For I envisioned antebellum visitors in period
vehicles nodding their approval here -
at the prickly close of day ..
Brown sugar November shrubbery
crackled in the scorn of winter-ways ..
Lead , case hardened steel , black powder-
and the corruption of the dead ..
Widows , orphans and city blocks afire
Put your religion & its army on my shelf
whilst I **** upon the fires of the liars and their wealth ..
Awakened in the midst of a cavalry charge ..
Thunder . Screams , stealth and brutality ..
Death celebrated with fried catfish , potato salad-
and baked beans ..
The laughter of children has replaced the cries of pain..
Chillbain lifted with the onset of warm July rain ..

I've one 'battle tested' , authentic friend ..
My shadow ..

In a black and white world I see --
her as a rainbow divided into -
a million hues ..
My midnight ballerina traipsing-
my wonted nightfall with starlight hope-
and taut , beloved , choreographed moves ...

A whiff of wild onion ..
The sting of skin to metal ..
Crystal ploughland ,
mechanical mules , RC Cola-
thermometers & diesel perfume ..
Clanging cattle gates , Carolina-
sky , dissonant disc seeking grease ,
a chaw or two o' Levi if you please ...

The crackle of autumn leaves ,
golden forest canopies , apple cider dreams-
and cinnamon sticks drawing stick figures-
on frosted windows ..
Brush strokes of moonshine spinning-
nightfall portraits into life..
Cold glass portals of magic and desire ..

There's pine clinging to the breeze ,
The scrabble and babble of "easties"-
in the trees ..
A chorus of windbound ravens ..
All Hail ! The security of my warm winter haven ...
A frozen bell
A cockleshell
Two milk cans
Wind racked pie pans
A Farmers Almanac ,
a glass-top table half full-
of nick-knacks , this and-
thats , whatever and 'what on
earth's , the accoutrements of the blessed aged-
and the soon to be interred .. A once mighty sunflower scratches-
the porch screen ...
Thus , my steadfast , collective account of rural daydreams ..