Silver Trampolines in the Gloom
Drifting in the forest all alone
Shaded silver trampolines were floating in the sky
She was dreaming in the gloom.
A clearing in the foggy woods
Comforting, warm winds
Tiny sailboats filled with snails.
Swimming around her
Swimming in her mind
In a daze
Spinning in the forest all alone.
Shadows in the sky
In a daze
Whales twisting around slide trombones
Whirling with blissful confusion
Spinning softly with the shadows.
Whales sailing in the dark trees.
Rustling branches falling slowly
Flowing in the wind
Owls sinking with the branches
Owls with eight eyes
Dreaming in the darkness.
The Floating Iris
She's like an accordion
In need of laughter
She gambols in the falling leaves
As they silently brush their way through her soft hair
Twirling around in her patterned sweater
Feeling the wind through her finger tips
Tasting the everlasting beauty of the brisk air.
Then, as we sing in the garden
Gazing at the twilight
Teeth filled with everything but sorrow
We shout out our fears
As we cavort and frolic through our lives
Through the falling trees
And through the broken and withered leaves
Spinning the Whales
Keep all these crows away
As we waltz
To another day of beauty
Good Morning and we say hello
And we waltz
Keeping all the crows at bay
You are my blue bird
Quiet and sweet
The sun sets in your eyes
Only for you
Pillow of Shoes
Accepting consciousness in a gasoline whale
Carelessly sliding in a hospital mirror
Reflecting silky moths sailing through space
In juxtaposition with a pillow of shoes
Ethereally sinking in the electric chairs
In a room full of mellow eyes
Surrounded by a calm sea
A floating Iris in the sunshine
Dancing in the wind
Through the grassy hills
Melting the toxic barricades
Wandering innocence with mischievous desires
Of corrupt ideas pillaging her mind with bombardments of soft pianos
Gently gliding down into her subconscious
The foggy hills in the dull blue rain
Slowly dripping down from the smoky clouds which wind over-head
Docile dreams dip sequentially throughout the atmosphere
Escaping Though The Eyes Of My Own Cantaloupe
My mind is what seems to be
A certain cantaloupe of memories that proceeds through my mind
Wandering through my brain like an withered old lady
Shouting at the mail man because he came two minutes late
He knows that she doesn't really exist
But, what does it mean to be a ghost?
Does he really know that she's not there?
Or is he just pretending?
Sometimes I like to pretend I'm young again
Far from home
Exploring through the grassy fields
Through the icy tundra
And everything in between
Knowing that danger is around every corner
And snack time is just a few yards away.
Then there are times
Whilst wandering though my cantaloupe of memories
Where all I see is shadows
Screaming at me
Shouting at me until I realized it wasn't them it was me!
I quickly pull away
And all I could see is my mother staring at me
Looking at me with such abhorrence.
I don't know if i'll ever be the same again