Missed My Exit Again

Like an orange in the sky,
listening to my thoughts,
the bright ball of fire,
watched from the clouds
painted pink with the
acrylic paint of my iris.
So, there it was, a
beautiful blur of orange
light hundreds of thousands
of miles away, keeping
me company on the
highway.
All the cars disappeared,
and it was only me and
this fantastic glowing
monster whispering
childhood memories
of grape vines
tanning on the garage
wall. The pedal must
have felt it when my
foot attacked it to
desperately make
the car move faster.
I was almost there...
I could smell the
lavender trees.

Sunsets in Our Pockets

Thieves of
days and nights and
moments long
forgotten.
Numbers in calendars
race on glossy pages,
slip and fall off
only to be
vacuumed by the tornado
of existence, swallowing
everything along with the
stars and the sea,
stealing sunsets from
our pockets, and
words from our mouths.
Like puzzles with
missing pieces, stationary
creatures traveling through
stories invented by
unknown authors, painted
by dead artists.
We are toys and games
played, bouncing on
the clock's arrows,
metal disguised as hands
with fingers, stroking our
heads into slumber.
An audition? No, this is
real and now!
No time for the camera
to take the perfect
shot. Click, snap
a close-up of freckles,
wrinkles, blemishes
and scars, as mirrors
without reflections wander
like ghosts among
us.

Chasing Windmills

Shoes clunk upon imaginary time,
through inexistant space, and
across corridors
of stains life painted
on walls,
without movement.
Fingers kiss
the grooves of
cities born from
stripped lead,
lick boundaries
of rainbows
long forgotten.
Above,
a magnetic candle
trembles as
dust waltzes
in Cinderella's slippers,
across the dance
floor.
Over dented steps of time,
concerts
of retrospect perform
music customized by
aged wood.
Doors stand with greedy
key holes, and crests
of numbers furnished
with nipples of
sound.
Opera of spirit
follows along a
mosaic of delusion,
a chronological
passage gone
awry.


Still... sort of work in progress.