The MUSIC

The MUSIC “The moment makes love to the space between the dishwasher and the floor, A hidden, wonderful place that among the dust gathers the unknown, makes it the unforgotten.” Self. Reflected. 3 mins. In this unforgettable dream! I. A Young Bohemian Rhapsody Eyes yawn with sleep. Only escape from reality. The maroon CD flames, A crest as fantastic, As a new world, So unlike my world, Of recess and N-Sync. My head leans against a blue wood headboard, Pierced with stars and a quarter moon. Toes still well short of the twins edge. Moush? Fandango? What matters, But this. Color which splatters like acid, Leaves the search of mystery. II. Meeting Pink Floyd The yellow bus bustles with flying airplanes, Over excited looks at newly bosoms, Breathless, exhaustive talks about television, First sightings of a green substance, Hidden in a cigarette box. But in the back right seat, The two by the window, Tied close by a knotted wire. Sit, Stuck, still. The bus, Hits a bump, Gives momentary wings to the masses, Yet, Sadly dislodges the connection, Between two consciences. I bend at the waist, And grab the bud from the floor. Return quietly To imagination… We exchange looks, Like the passing of notes beneath a table. The song changes. Thoughts… What would I exchange, Childish thoughts… How would a cold steel rail feel against my lips? Crisp and cold, It would slide, Catch, Against my teeth. III. Jimi before Sleep I make my way. This time, Through the vacancies of my mind. In front of me, Snapped guitars, Crashing through cob webs, A little wing, Helps me glide amongst the supple. The vibrations hold momentum, In their sweat-crisp palms. The heavy hour, Waltzes like the panther, now. If I peek from under the tent I’ve made with my knees, I can see its yellow eyes dancing, Lingering, A part the darkness. At the present, The eyes only float, Dip, Wait. My eyes flutter in transportation. Lashing brown swords against the approaching, Untamed beast… Thoughts doze into life. IV: Prom, before the Music A jar of fire flies in a light blue suit, Stands on the welcome mat. Mind swollen shut, Muscles shaking as it reaches to the bell. Moment unyielding, Yet, Bold as the fabrics light blue. Then ping, rrrrinnggg!! Breathing begins with the beating alarm, But the air grasps thick, Until the heart flows, With the pit tat, of her approaching heals against the hardwood, Vibrating through the doorway. V. The Tin Man In this unforgettable dream! I stand, Inside rusted metal tin, Resting mindful and awake, Like the pyramids, Stuck still as progress on a college weekend in Spring. Skin tingles, Hair aflare. Silver taint On the rusted tin, Cold. Eternity as real and present as the leaf rolling over my oranging boot. Stuck still, Because of past rain in sometime unknown… Beneath my lips, The whites echo. Reverberation flows to my outmost fibers, Tingles my marrow. I sit alone amidst, The summer heat, And fallen oranges