Captivated,
Like a little girl in church
Accepting her insignificance
In the eyes of the Big Guy,
I sit hallucinating, you might call them dreams,
Of future times, or past, when something was/is alright
these things entrance so easily, me,
and I’m just another lost boy, though,
on most days.
blue corn chips and the smell of Arden’s Sunflowers
the sight of clear cold lakes
and the feel of an old bus seat
such little things can create such lasting
burnt-in memories
And I’m not afraid nearsomuch
Anymore
Maybe I’m a new person,
Or maybe I’ve forgotten that I’m pretending
Not to be frightened
It can’t possibly matter
When perception becomes authenticity
And I wonder aloud
Should I be sad that another’s dreams
Haven’t come together either?
I answer myself with one more “maybe”
And I take another pill


more of my nonesense (poetic, political, and otherwise) at:

www.theriverman.blogspot.com

sweet dreams,

av