some people speak from the heart
going back in time to the 60’s
it’s hard to re-invent perfection
now everybody’s a squeaking rubber toy
exaggerating
in another dimension
did I tell you
my special one
sews torn rainbows
that fell from the sky
the sun made her nimble fingers possible
and every evening
the moon reflects her beauty
she is a keeper of the flame
death row’s last glass of water
wrestling with her own burden
flesh wounds from some terrible night
I met her in a coffee house
reading poems with a bongo drummer
a long time ago
we were hippies
walking on water
a supernatural thing
for earthbound people
basking in a glorious morning
birds sing to each other
tree tops taking turns
call and response
takes the edge off
another worm picking day
we noticed a man on a bench
dead in his eyes’ unmoving expression
he said imagination
inhabits
his empty obsession
he was dreaming of tightly bound flowers
teasing and unfolding
a last minute jumble
in his chaotic mind
he had been lost
in the envelope of a forest’s wooden cross
he spent his days spinning around
a kaleidoscope of disjointed thoughts
gray owls purple stones and shapely women
he kept a diary in the labyrinth
of his defenses
and enters the visions
in the minute book of
back in the days
when people listened
when people cared
