It is when he falls with an aroma
Pint by Pint
Into a berserk ocean
It is then I arch my back
for my body to live in harmony
With its own self.
I sit in a lullaby car
It has both emergency headlights on
A sketchbook flying within,
And there is drumming on the gorilla glass
He conspires with two sets of mercenary whales
And seven distant-eyed oval monsters on my window
marked onto a horizon, nibbling
And gasping like my opening throat.
I close my eyes, I open them
I am the glass pane now.
Do you ever get this desire?
To be not you
And to be in fact nothing,
Only a strand of wind
brushing past the squinting mustard beams of the street light?
And to be a smell
Or even words
In a night where moon is purple and the sky white
And love is made
with the rain.