Silver threaded with crinkled cut leaves.
A shaft of yellow-orange light-
The Golden Arches of forbidding
Blending-nourishing me as I take flight;
A bud without roots to keep stable–
Whoosh! High, tuned like a flute,
Sojourning for the media-laced truth
Embraced in the silver and blues
Of the 2 in the afternoon-
Blanketed by a smog of laced
Red and yellow bright lights-
Freeing myself from the various handicapped Parking spots
And situating myself comfortably
In the last parking spot
In the godforsaken
-Saturday madness of Christmas Eve rush.
I shed the mistakes I’ve piled up-
Uneven like the leaning tower of pisa
As twisted and topsturvy as a lost idiom
In the time fray of hashtags and lol’s.
A snake too craven, self-made in China.
Change is a word that is tossed around
Ceaser on the ides of March-
By people who never amount to nada
Comfortable at the bottom shelf-
The last milk cartoon
In the local bodega.
I miss the for-comings of whimsy
Where the fantastical
Was reality and a beehive mindset
Is looked down up from a very high
And upturned nose-
Not a nose ring scar in sight!
While my childhood friends
Hand in term papers-
Slop pink slime through a funnel
And tweet their aspiration to empty ears-
I will travel and explore!
A dandelion’s rebellious child
Leaving the conformity of all who
Failed to reach the border or truth and
I wing on the high wind
And find solstice in the unknown
Until I give myself back to the elements
Who constantly lament my name!