The touchable light of a dandelion winter
Traceable woes between two
Whispers in shades of moonlight
But a fall of difference

Wonder burns in the care of silence
Faded faces linger to a melody of heart
A dare of once more
To blur the line that walks unforgiven

Ash fired galaxies ignite for chance
Stone cast destiny but a dream of you
Delicate curvature to be
Scent of shadows follow

To grasp the night of forevermore
Unknown to the eyes of noise
Stillness falls upon the felt
A stars reflection of found

she estimates the night
counting the stars laid out
in a sweeping gesture in dayglow paint
across the ceiling
with technicolor comets
and a ladder from the plush carpet
to the dusty shelf with the snow storm crystal ball
a tepid little scene with a campfire
and a small grey wolf
the ladder has a small man climbing it
Jacob

she lets her hand wander to the
plate next to her
two thousand one a space odyssey plays
silently on the television
she picks up a chicken bone
holds it up to the dim light
whispers 'show me some magic'
and smiles to no-one in particular

bright blue hair
knee high rainbow socks
one lip pierced and a hungry for hope eyes
there's music playing
some neatly polished teen heart throb
and his prettier than thou *****
her walls are coated with
random pictures trimmed from magazines
some neatly polished life she dreams on sometimes
where she is fashionable
and the world is her playground

she drapes herself on my lap
all the while speed talking about a hundred things
and touching each subject
like a queen bestowing gifts
she playfully teases
'show me your magic baby'

she a neo-glitter kitty
ninety seven paces from the surface of the moon
but she keeps complaining about the dust
wants to take a vacuum cleaner to the whole place
i'm gonna clean too
tongue bath
starting with her earlobe

Drive ‘round town; Nostalgia
                                        color me voodoo.
The oranged-pink hue of the sunshine
                                        feeds me mellow.
Head on the road ’n’ off the rodeo,
        Blakey on the radio — “Please give me
                               a pretty overdose with othello dayglow”
Mansions mate with motorhomes. Methane skies gas burnt-out residents.
Tiredthoughts&drymouth; Think it’s a drought—
                                                             Could be a pestilence.
       “****, it’s too hot out
                                  for the middle-of-September!..Ach-urr!”
I cough&choked on a memory—Remember-
                                                ­            ing youth’s relentless attention
                                                       ­ to nothing in particular but
                                                             ­   its boundless pursuit of every-
                                                        th­ing in-between.

I used to look to the Blue and think I’d float away
                                  but
             that’s when I believed in miracles.
Nowadays, reality has no sympathy just a noose — tighter leash,
                       anchored soles to a meanconcretecaprice
                                                with
                                 no abstract release — (still)
I drive ‘round Podunk & keep away from po-lice.

I stop in the corner-market
    to cop some energy&fillup on gasoline;
    at the pumps
tilt my bushy-brunette crown back to admire
            the delicious slices of tangerine evening-sky
                  topped by thick whippingcream clouds...
...Remiss though;
     futile, in wild aims to pause Time
                   and repossess my myself: immobilized
          I was separated from body centuries ago
                                   & today (i) continue
                                    a microstep behind (my) experience...
...Wait inside my 99 Suzuki Esteem
        cigarette cherried, Brubeck on NPR;
Waiting for my man, he’s always late.
                   Waiting, so I can buy it.
                   then smoke it.
                   then hide myself;
          Stow-ed a-way
& it’s almost fall,
        I find peace in the fallen leaves,
           the stoic desperation in the liberation
              of those sweet Autumn trees.

Drive ‘round town; Nostalgia is a solitary perfume;
         let it take the wheel&lead the way —
I can see silhouettes
         through the fog of cigarettes, hologram faces.
Drive ‘round town over bridges I forgot to burn
            and
      instead, just let decay...

Drive ‘round town — let
        the music choose my destination, let
                                       the rhythm lead the way, let
               the groove shake the memories loose.
Sometimes I drive for hours, sometimes
                                                I let my mind wander for days.
Sometimes I roll the world on my tongue,
                                                sometimes­ I have nothing to say.


Drive ‘round town; Nostalgia
                                         color my contempt;
       Deadwood&drygrass&nomoneyforent.
                  Sanity is counted in dollars&cents
       & This place always stinks like ****.

I love the beauty of the lake
                                 but
                            I hate what it reflects.
Hushed earth-tones and
                pastel humanity,
Vanity injected with a tie-around-the-neck.

Drive ‘round town; Nostalgia
                                 keeps me from sober.
        The sun feeds my head
                                 and the roads are now my owner.
“**** it’s too cold out
                                 for the middle-of-October!”

Hushed earth-tones
                        and pastel humanity;
Blush'd guru trance O how petty I’ve be-come!
 ... isolation is intoxicating.
           “No more, no more…”
I’m already dumb,
           Shouldn’t I be happy?

Drive ‘round town; Nostalgia
                                        color me voodoo,
                the faded twilight feeds my melancholy;

In spring I plant my harvest in fall I reap the seeds.

Nothing much else to do.

But
Drive ‘round town & let the countryside woo me.
Lived here for 15 years,
           (turns out)
nobody ever knew me.

In this void I question serenity
gazes are treated as lances,
even freckles are friendless
such is the self;
a bouquet of inward reverence.
Ashen is  this dayglow world
the past is pictured fairer
yet surely are we culpable
to be led so astray.

The sun sets as I wrap ten fingers around my neck.
I sink and watch the dayglow leave from beneath.
There's water in my lungs, where oxygen used to be.
I wish I could stop drowning in my own sea.