The Traveler and the Sky

In a remote area far off the path
you begin to feel lost--
because you are, one of smallest
in the vast pavilion bringing in
bits of the sea

Dreaming here:
means dreaming forever
getting down in saltless dunes and
never dreaming at all

Your one with the wind, a spec of color
that rides out of the moon--
wild in spurs of bleached coral
pinned tight--
under your weights slickness, trembling
as your acclimating body
releases from bondage of skin

One of the headless, weightless now
and sick... Sick!
Of the clouds you painted on the ceiling
they aren't as useful as the stickers of stars
that glow to lead you through the usual dark
your gasping in your own absence

watching a strange flower bloom where
you slowly lift its roots, into a jar
and its anchored, captured in solitude
perfect there, in wet gravel and gleaming

Its essence is (everything) and nothing
spinning in restless ripples, wings of leg bone
that wrap a strong trunk
soft pedals of jasmine, yellow purple from the
dragons snap, beads of sapphire
as they bled from Saturns rings-- touched
and fading...
It can''t live, not in the real world

A thick bubble drops, another
as a timer resets within
A plastic ferris wheel goes around
revealing....
sparkling bites as it falls, flipped
and continually turning
into the silver side of the mushrooms trip
as released from mosquitoes swarm