Watching the midnight hour take another turn,
Wondering what to teach the sun, something to burn.
Playing with puppets of twinkling stars and lazy pillows,
Wishing it was all as sweet as wind in the willows.
Driving down the dead road painted black and blue,
Fondling some long-forgotten dozer,
Living is the real thing, I’m just a poser.
Sleeping in stars that bleed at the seems,
Falling through memories, prayers and dreams.
Tripping with all manners of sweetness, as most will do,
Keeping this moment close, as I return to you.