The green of the shallows were filled with the life of minnows..swirling with their
shadows like the large march of clouds in the haze. Lucid visions pronounced and vivid as the dreams that kept me from sleep...stay happy awake till the tremors took hold of my hands and arms and legs like the world was shaking in its rough bearings..awake smoking in the broken hammock of the chair..spine slumped against the cool of the brick...the eyes sparkling of the little pole lights..the shadows of the decoration trees with their brown curled seed pod come fall like a dirty moon browned by the frost...I was tumbling in the spin dry of life going round and round rumpled as my shirts with small chrome safety pins from the sewing kits...the buttons saved in the treasure tin...I was sewing all the girls clothes and neglecting mine..retreating as I worked through at night all the angles...and forgot the basics once again like all before....The stars were a shower of wonder...comforting and cold like a damp blanket in winter...I felt alive to stare at them..the voice of night so open and large..frightening and distant...like a hand of a friend before they drive off at dusk on the road to redemption...the little joys before i argued a point and lost it in the defense of those that pulled the loose strings of my fabric....there were no puppet strings and yet I danced...i was the runner..the front..the distraction to all the hazy daze of wonder and provincial atmosphere....hot dusty and tainted with the sweat of sweet hope that never fell on a parched seeded lot...Others were longing for the rare attention I often gave like an audience coming up from the lair like a submariner writing...needing clothes washed...they could do it..they loved it when I folded them...set them on their bureaus..."My tears of loneliness washed my shirt clean!!" pure poetry and I loved their shirt..white linen neatly designed..the girls looked good and professional..so old school like all the broken memories that never played the songs I craved..pure poetry that sang like the poplars in the wind before the rains...the only time I could sleep..its voice like a lullabye beating through the limbs and dark...shinning in the shadows like a liquid ghost...I loved them and we drew apart with the indifferences of change and time...they blamed me for their loss...which only made me all the more heartsick and angry...the pills which helped the old aches and busted clavicle that never healed dug in like a hunger.deeper then the craving of their voice or attention...i was their old paperback no longer the favourite...I was my new hero growing a new coat.a new disguise...and they loathed it...I curled in my dreams snarling and whimpering..racing through the years..I loved the pangs of the rejection and rebuff..all i had truly known..the embrace was a stranger...the touch was a spector..
shadows like the large march of clouds in the haze. Lucid visions pronounced and vivid as the dreams that kept me from sleep...stay happy awake till the tremors took hold of my hands and arms and legs like the world was shaking in its rough bearings..awake smoking in the broken hammock of the chair..spine slumped against the cool of the brick...the eyes sparkling of the little pole lights..the shadows of the decoration trees with their brown curled seed pod come fall like a dirty moon browned by the frost...I was tumbling in the spin dry of life going round and round rumpled as my shirts with small chrome safety pins from the sewing kits...the buttons saved in the treasure tin...I was sewing all the girls clothes and neglecting mine..retreating as I worked through at night all the angles...and forgot the basics once again like all before....The stars were a shower of wonder...comforting and cold like a damp blanket in winter...I felt alive to stare at them..the voice of night so open and large..frightening and distant...like a hand of a friend before they drive off at dusk on the road to redemption...the little joys before i argued a point and lost it in the defense of those that pulled the loose strings of my fabric....there were no puppet strings and yet I danced...i was the runner..the front..the distraction to all the hazy daze of wonder and provincial atmosphere....hot dusty and tainted with the sweat of sweet hope that never fell on a parched seeded lot...Others were longing for the rare attention I often gave like an audience coming up from the lair like a submariner writing...needing clothes washed...they could do it..they loved it when I folded them...set them on their bureaus..."My tears of loneliness washed my shirt clean!!" pure poetry and I loved their shirt..white linen neatly designed..the girls looked good and professional..so old school like all the broken memories that never played the songs I craved..pure poetry that sang like the poplars in the wind before the rains...the only time I could sleep..its voice like a lullabye beating through the limbs and dark...shinning in the shadows like a liquid ghost...I loved them and we drew apart with the indifferences of change and time...they blamed me for their loss...which only made me all the more heartsick and angry...the pills which helped the old aches and busted clavicle that never healed dug in like a hunger.deeper then the craving of their voice or attention...i was their old paperback no longer the favourite...I was my new hero growing a new coat.a new disguise...and they loathed it...I curled in my dreams snarling and whimpering..racing through the years..I loved the pangs of the rejection and rebuff..all i had truly known..the embrace was a stranger...the touch was a spector..
