You see me as a blurred pencil sketch,
Just an Antarctic chrysanthemum hourglass.
But I reject your pine tree caviar
And striped rectangle recordings.
I refuse to be your floral spider,
Accepting of clanking yellow misspellings
And seizures of hand-me-down unknowns.
I long to escape to the shadows of myth,
An ocean reef cemetery on a mirrored moon
Where willows weep waterfalls
Of black vines wrought of cold iron
That sway like melting chocolate in the rain,
Where storms of guitar riffs
Mimic the throaty growls of tiger lilies.
I want to seek cinnamon stars,
Chant with forgotten snowflakes,
Breathe the sleep of September echoes,
Dream of red suede foxes with pixie-tinkle giggles,
Whisper penumbral illusions
In castles of hypnotic bookshelves,
Where tattooed Lamborghini cats
Bask in galaxies of shimmering triangles.
