Trudging the road
with heavy feelings,
like I am a pocketful
of tarnished golden shillings.

Dragging feet
through soaking
pavement; walking,
lured by the lark's
shrilly singing.

Twenty-one years
of overexaggerated living,
I was promised of a life
halfway fulfilled,
only to find at almost twenty-two,
to believe in people's wholehearted joking.

Spending the majority of
my life then, just daydreaming
of how things could be
if only I had stopped believing.

Yet here I am,
a pocketful of useless learning,
but I don't know how long this would last
until I stretch my fabric; thinning,
only to shred it apart; bit by bit, tearing.

Disturbing and relieving as a nightmare,
Comforting and lonely as a daydream,
The quiet of waking.

We met on the corner of Saxon and 95 south
During one of those nights I was crawling out of my anaphoric daydream
I was a broken down bride in my sheets of white linen
When  I noticed the light in your eyes were as dull as mine
When the moon sculpted a mirage in the center of your ashtray
When you told me you needed me to stay a moment longer
I traded you a Chevy ride for a song of sweet surrender
As you blessed the burning willows that bled through my black and mild soul
Firing the sparks inside of me that had never seen a flame  
As I drowned in a carcass of rapids that never seemed to lay still
I reached into my lillies and pulled out a candle
To lighten your vision until you reached home
Until you were strong enough to love her again
And you thanked me with a smile and a tank of gas
I drove until midnight, staring at the moonlight
listening to the sighs of my breathe against the wind
And the sweet little woman who lives inside of my bones  
Reminds me of the way old Georgia worshipped my vines
I chose to abandon his comfort and wisdom
For the freedom of white lines on an open road
And while it soothes me to see him settle without me
I can’t help but wonder if I’ll always be a withdrawn vagabond
With my toes in the sand, with my head in clouds
Writing lines in a blank verse of commitment.

If you can't see me
technically I'm creeping.

That's the thing about van life at the beach.
The tinting on the windows
provide a delightful treat.

Greetings, yummy surfer meat.

Why would he change out here in the open
if he didn't want to be appreciated
for the beautiful piece of art he is?

If I touch myself, I'm a creep.
But my eyes can eat the meat.

Cold. He tenses his muscles.
I'm starved so I notice

He can't see me but-
what if I'm his destiny!

Nope. He's gone.

every time i imagine your name
or your face,
or any daydreamt aspect of you
interacting with me,
instead of your name,
i will think,
"for what?"
and i think,
it's better this way,
~for both our sakes

I so want to tell you.
I so want to dream with you.
I want you know me better.
I am strong daydreamner, loneliner,
So full of kindness and loving feelings.

I know how to make you and me happy.
So happy to scream it to the whole world.

I can see ordinary life like full of
wonderful details.

I know how to make you feel so lively.
I am person who is always on foot.
Going through and exploring.
I will take your hand and go out to show you
how my seeing of life is
How you can be happy in details.

This is me.
Daydream is my drug for you.
Everything with me is sweeter.
My Daydream.

The daydreamer asked, curiously:

What else do people
use those solitary
moments for
where the
mind lulls lazily
into the hazy grapefruit
halo of an afternoon

if it is not to collect
tokens of daydreams?