Monday, April 4, 2011


You are a kind of fiction
With coconutted, blistered red
Chlorine soothed, aloe fed
Bare shoulders.

My imagination overhears you,
The crunch of summered citrus blooms
Dried out in the roomless rooms,
Your mythic soul, sandpaper smooth.

I invent your thoughts of me,
A spider web, a branching tree,
Artificial passion fashioned,
Not controlled or maturely rationed
With measuring spoon reality.

You smuggling tunnel, you border fence
You're existence verses common sense
Is suppressed, sequestered in dream suspense.
Backed up against the yellow wall
There never was a chance at all.

As summer burns off one more year
Baked with coast-less, top-up, "Here"
In soundless waves and sand veneer
By reasons force, you disappear.

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