skip to main |
skip to sidebar
if you think that a daydream is worth anything
montana might stretch a branch in your head,
a cast-iron star trail might circle instead,
if you think that five minutes is worth anything.
a brain pumping branch has grown into an old, wrinkled tree
while stars swirl to compose a billowing sea.
five minutes aren't up, but you seem to be.
are you wondering whether or not i notice you?
well, no doubt, i do
because, among other things, your smoke is blue.
fears sleep soundly
profoundly
waking everything else
sun creeps high
to pressurize
an anxious lack of health
drifting into dream
requiem
a comatose hymnal
now confidence rests
buried chest
always right on schedule
honesty without hesitation
would give me good gas milage
and colors could be verbs
if someone greened toward dust shadows
there is night in the air with sky in the middle
and particles of light that blind me a little.
a fearless young moon shines light through kerr jars
to lead experienced armies of shining pink stars
in through my window and on to my bed,
lighting pillows on fire that cradle my head.
then a grave ashen whisper creeps up from beneath
the bright burning mattress and supernova sheets
to feed me the words that i don't want to taste,
but i eat them all raw and get ink on my face...
the warmth of your starlight
kept me warm with its heat
and the wind chill
only sang me to sleep
sitting on a couch in the 1940's with a newspaper haircut, liquid dripping
you would have never thought that this is where you'd end up
when you built it
to travel
you went so far forward that you came back around
to the twentieth century with its cars and wars and microwave ovens
where they cook their television dinners and convenient meals to settle
all kinds of conflict
be it domestic
or international
they just cook, and press buttons that change the world, red buttons i would presume
with your new larger forehead you can wrinkle the skin to show an emotion almost lost
just a memory for today's adults
but it was near to the heart's of a generation before and their children traveling back to see them
this wrinkle of skin on the outside of your skull provides insight behind
showing a renewal of innocence, a shock, a pull
while the twenty-first century shrugs, the twentieth raises a brow
and you just sit on a couch in the 1940's trying to wrinkle coca-cola skin as you
wait for hair to grow so you can go back home and play life with a thumb or two
what do words excite in your frame?
is it the same for you as it is for me?
i highly doubt that, but its true all the same.
a word that is written, no falsehood may be.
