Spring // Sprung

Rocketship // Rainbow

 

Rocketship Rainbow, relating the days events during a fly by on-air adventure. Sometimes is sounds better than you remember. Little drummer boy marches off into the sunset looking for heralds of the new age, hoping to find luck in love and wondering if the world will wait. 

(Sing a song of sixpence)

(Rise, Rays, Rest.)

Inventory // .............

Under-educated
Overstimulated
Combustible
Inconsolable

Destructible

Impassable

Undesirable

Overburdened

Unseen

(Cinnamon Sticks and Frosted Lips)

Digital dictation isn't fair enough as I fumble for pencil and paper, to record fledgling breaths of anticipation and agony. Not of this time, staggering souls slide into syncopation, slipping out through tunnels and rabbit-holes. Frolic young ones, flee like the rabbit on the first frostbitten hemlock, nuzzle and kneel close to the ground for her hidden messages.

Through the forest, rear window, birds eye view. Swallowing the sleepy buildings like sugarcane-kissed strawberries. States slip by beneath in a linear involuntary manner. Power lines prophesize permanence and destination. Day blends to night tastes like cinnamon sticks and frosted lips.

(Bird of the Bayou)

oh, sweet serenity, how the deafness falls upon mine ears and creates a dumbfounding darkness. it has been too long since the sound of your chorus has filled these spaces. I pause, poised and prepared to traverse the meadowlands and race V-8, floorboard, forward into the badlands- those streets with no name, rugged and abating. skulking shadows of the firefly lights traipse behind in whispers and giggle while I find myself steadfast in your heart.

Until that gravity plants me imperviously cheek to cheek, I sigh and sing like the bird of the bayou. Idle hands, have I not? They are reaching for any task that can dissuade them from becoming the playthings of a devil of distance. Ice descends upon them, and I am reticent to implore them cessation. Lost in the inter-webs of daydream dialogues, the sun shall soon usurp the clouds, and open before me my pilgrimage.

(Jump.)

Little indiscretions echo
across the valleys

that separate our points of view.

The proof is in the pudding

and the milk has been left out far too long
.

Wings spread wide with a run and a jump to

soar

yet stumbling blocks trip and tear, thrashing me to the surface just shy of spectacular segue to solid ground.


Forte found in fornicated praise.
The search for everything begins and ends in the middle of nowhere, stark sterile no-mans land devoid of identity.

Ledge // Leapt

 

...and so suddenly, sweet bird you have lept from your ledge as my heart has been beat to the bush....

 

Birds // Alcatraz

Shroom // Cone

Captive // Holdings