If all is one,
we are comets,
speeding through sunset and shame,
with a tank of gas / without a penny in our pockets,
hues of pink and blue tickertape clouds
yawn before us like the world beyond and we,
desperately, try to get there:
music pulsing pulsing to the tune
of our quivering quivering hearts.
No one to race but the
coyotes here
and we feel free
to dream under heaven's gaze
and the long-ago light of the stars.
No comments:
Post a Comment