In solitude and in
Prison cells
And
In arboreal memory-scapes
Do I find myself
Floating
Face up,
Lungs empty.
A long blade
Scream
Escapes me
And
My breath
Rises like a
Cotton cloud
In the chill November air.
"Aaaayyyy-a-deeeee.
(Stillness, jet glass water)
Aaaaayyy-aaa-daaayyyy
Sad eyed breezes and
Floating away..."
It's like a beer can poet,
Floating on a tire tube,
Spinning in the current,
Spinning with Time,
Spinning with Earth,
Spinning with race-
Consciousness,
Traveling at the
Speed of
Mind,
Deep kissing unthought,
Deeply unthinking the kisses
He planted on Space's dusty ceiling...
And in the morning
He won't remember
The words that rolled
Down his face from
His eyes to
His lips.
He'll just have the
Lake
And the
Empty cans and the
Tire tube.
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