wisp

Watching motion poet,
Oh quit it, you bastard witch..cloud hung in the sky.

Picnic tables on wires. Panic banner rises.

Now it was itching really close, so very close...
A close up is to distinct, so far away, so indistinct,
That devilish black hair girl in the dreams that teases you.

Wanting you to go all the way,
putting your all into nothing but hallucinations,
and when its over you wonder...
Why it's not possible outside a dream.

So many inches down the road, your walking, hobbling sleepy toad.

Going on the mysterious street,
different then the dirt roads, so whiny.
and so little did it interest me like a black speck in my shoe,
the little wrinkle in my toes.

Well who's on the horse?
town to town,
hang out in the desert,
insert the thing you find desirable, inject it to your brain.