12/9/18

Poem- stream of consciousness

Driving slow on Sunday Morning

The consciousness leaks out of the back-seat window

Blowing waves of disposure up to the clouds

Where the opposing energy is given back down

And gypsies block the street in the back of my mind

While he and her lie on the sofa together watching Friends

And the dog is under the bed but they don’t know

Until he hears the fridge door open and runs out, disposed

And all the while the sky turns pink then purple

Then whole

And I walk past the willow trees while listening to Come Undone on my headphones

And I get too excited and don’t pay attention and step in dog poop

And I look at the damage under my shoe, and the Jackson Pollock is green and yellow

With a touch of jealous

And when I wake up, I hear you drive by and don’t care

Until I care too much

And you are too sweet to sweat

And too matched to met

And the room in the back of the Native American’s head is a kitchen table set with stuffed tomatoes

And her mother’s is a living room with a candy dish

And I see a picture of her next to his best friend and I think it is them from the future

And I would be in love with the black-haired musician in the picture-

He would be deep, dark, and confused, while she is sure, as I remember her throwing glitter in the air

And I wonder if I will ever come back to that point in my life again

When everything was simple because it was complicated

And now the stars dot the sky with obscurity

Because we still don’t know all that is up there