Nefex

Night trickles         into day like the last dredges of a warm oatmeal bath, clinging to the pumpkin glow given off by small town setting sons. We are awake, but only barely, slipping into a chlorine clean pool of forest          dreams. Pulling from our childhood memories these nightly tales tell, in a voice above a whisper "we're looking for something"             Yet when we wake to cheesecake clouds, contemplating sinking back,                        we realize we woke before we could capture what     we're looking for in the forest of ferns & firs.

Air balloons are a form of transportation. Not unlike my heart, and perhaps just as illogical. Yet, when heat sparks and we stand close enough to kiss-- close enough to hit and miss. That's why people create them in such bright colors; because the possibilities are endless. The direction is happily uncertain, only flying, only rising.

I’ve courted the court of imperial justice. A pixie dust composition creates the complexion of this black robed back room beauty; clustered. Boiled to the brim, a swine slew soup-- of people pressured to painstakingly perform the great duty for this Great Gatsby glutton who takes out our preconceptions, pulls from our bellies the preconceived babies of the silver specked future-- those who could never think as we do, with our whirl wind and water based fury. For we will cry out to these combatant-- kids; sugar-toes no knows. Sweet sunshine taps on our stardust doors into heaven’s underground, where I live, breathing