I like the way my feet look
against the blue sky;
Effortless, and gentle, and faultless.

Walking through blue I find
that the end of summer,
it tastes like fall.

With wind in my face,
cinnamon in the air,

I am free.

The dying dandelion heads swirl on the pavement,
White caps on black tar waves,
The rejects of nature's beauty:
weeds

Hot, mobile air pushes its way into the nostrils of local youth,
Sending summer scents,
Doused with freedom.

Summer goes slow
when there is no one to see
and nowhere to go.

We expect elation.

purple flowers,
green trees
yellow honey bees

But like winter
we find an antiode
to the happy

A metaphysical cure
for the unrestrained insane.

I am dormant here in this
square box.

The only way out
is hurricanes;
scorching wind,
pounding rain

I'm not yet ready to leave
the calm of the ocean spray,
the warm of the sun beaten sand
the salt of the sea on my hands.

Suddenly seeing everything wrong
I have done. Ignoring everything,
I expel heinously Bright
Goldfish all over my
Hideous white
Walls.

Snow falls off the roof
A ruffle and soft sound
thumping, falling down
It’s cold here,
but inviting and quiet.
I feel strange wanting
but stubbornly resisting
till I get my way.
I let go, I release.
And the ruffle soft
sound slides along
the tracks of the tin
silver roof of my home.
Is it good enough?
Whatever I have underneath?
When it comes down to it,
will I settle uneasily?
Things open and alter
before the change
serpents into something
I can see.
I can move.
I can breath. I can think
I can speak. So I can.
So I should. So I will.
When I hit the ground
I’m not just for now, I’m
here and I wont
not see what sounds like
stars falling I’ll
live under extraneous
circumstance I’ll
dance even though
I’m average at best
And I’ve got to stop
taking No for an answer
when I’ve already decided
that it has to be
Yes.