reach you stars
urban pad to launch from
man of money made
tank of thinking minds
streets crossed
intersection containing all of us
heads in the cloud web of world
stomachs of babes too hungry to sail
on ships flying out
through misery and doubt
Susana dust flows
into the streets that we roam
smog canopy helps
meadows i see on the packages in the lady business aisle of my regular supermarket
when i was young and high living the downtown life meadows were tucked twixt the words of John Fante
on crowded freeways i imagine meadows green with polka dot flowers instead of beer bottles and trash
i too have stood on meadows ignoring reality when news and accounts have been grim
on the meadows of my mind while i stand in line waiting for my time with the speed ticket money taker i swear i have been a Hopi princess
meadows in the park constructed from repurposed everything that underserves the very point of wild God created freeform and bear in mind your parking meter too
dragonfly
blue
green
car
windshield
smog
begging
man
time
passed
through
wire
engine speaks in tongues at times
pulls into the soul
stops dusty clotted roads
the time to move was now
like a parade
on protest days
green mile flowers
line the way
sun kisses face alone
under hood hoses roar
radio delivers telegrams
from simpler times
and long ago
trails like waiting mothers
daughter shacks lined down
their shack feet shoed with poppies
ruby slippers anti-Hollywood style
ghost maidens sell red berries
for crows atop the Joshua trees
for me to feed
can’t stand tall
only in awe
dream catch spider web
crystals for tiny arachnid queens
their king hides under the rocks
wind fingers my aging hair
cowlicks everywhere
magnetism from Her core
presses on my mouth
and leaves a score
locked in me
are secrets stored
warriors express on Her behalf
not because they deem Her less
but because She is too sacred
for this place where i come from
alone
world at his fingertips
one
the wires carry all
crossing
the borders of time
boundaries
broken at hyper speed
to
win a race with out tracks
heal
his eye artificially at a glance
the
megabytes of dying ghosts
need
of any host the mark
of
godly hands to drill us in
the
when all is lightning sting
human
dust nothing to breathe but
spirit
words less spoken 