Such high hopes in a world of rules and order,
they celebrated in a park (metaphor for lie still)...
Milky swans swam silently as the geese cavorted
in raggedy weeds and dewy grasses...
an ethereal promise of flushed devotion
from a shining Chevy of their desire,
rebels without a particular cause
sought the making of a dream in the pie,
crisscrossed in a crust of manifold baking.
She danced in purest Salome sexuality,
he drank the light and sweet of her wiggly soul...
she was not a substitute for the Mama of listen...
his sensitivity had been beaten out of him
from a drunken father's painful disdain.
In a jittery bug of dance they sought the destiny
of dream... in American Pie lattice.
Flash flood of sorrow for yesterday's tomorrow...
the five peppers grew, not fast enough to weather
the storm of a mismatched discontent.
The jaded one loves both in their estrangement
of the regret I saw, I was a hope...
damaged when eyes were closed in the dark,
we all hid from the violence, it still hurts...
There's love for all in this damned mess of dreams...
The youngest butterfly is elusive in the wetting of wing,
she will know the beauty of their dance one day,
they just forgot how to fly along the way...
the endless hashing of past disappointments
was their captor in a noose of their undoing.
The future weaves us into the loom... as promise of your own doing.