Friday, November 15


A summer voyage
Bears the desert dust of
Uber-bright days.
Beneath the half-closed lids of
Sun-hazed eyes,
Cornflower blues merge with the aureate
Mirages wafting above
Gray reality.
Sweltering, but sweet.
Still the pictures that come so fast,
Pouring from the mocking stars—
Flooding the veins of a miscalculated
Desire for
The impossible.
Warm blocks of time,
Pulsating rhythms,
Alcohol-induced daydreams,
Melting ice, and
Strangers—so beautiful—
Drifting through the lit streets
Of a ravenous mind
That can only remember memories as 
Only recall the golds and smiles of a
          season long gone—
Only hope to grasp such
A globe of embellished recollection
With fingers
All . . . too . . . real.

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