getting lost

pining for amazement

pencilled in a dream:

a crooked line 

across the trail

pressed against

the railing of a balcony

wailing this harmony,

a sinatra stegosaurus song.

dancing like frankenstein,

barefoot on the thorns

of trumpet vines

lurking in the lawn.

is that what real feels like?

a noodle stuck in a colander,

getting lost in alphabets

and ice cream truck jingles

borrowed from

yesteryear's revolutions?

staring at the ceiling 

in the morning

wondering if the world

has worsened overnight.

the moonlight that was

tinted bluer than reality

the other half of day

still shouting yellow.

everybody's got some bones

dancing in the closet,

histories gagged

in myth and gloss,

softly idling

til the hours when

uncertainty creeps in,

will the sun ever rise again?

wanting to be lost

where we lounged

beside the lake

watching willow leaves

drift towards the turtles

basking on the logs

chained together

in front of the dam.

and we slid into

red oblivion

swollen in the moments

stolen from the pangs

of monday truth

and sunday sin.