If you can’t think
of something to do while
I’m here than
its leaving or going
that’s magic.
That’s all I know.
To wean off of Hollywood
and champions or
even romance it certainly
takes a dream, surreal,
falling from the skies of satellites
and missiles. Hate drifting
there, making heaven
look terrible, no haircuts
any longer, only tattoos.
What was your story?
A single stilt leaning
against a wall.
An apple orchard and
the moon above
all night. You would
get addicted. Freedom
never knew such bounds.
No flags, no dimes,
no drifting from the horizon.
All surprise.
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