Red rock canyons that
circle the air like smoke rings
and hang in bowls of spilled milk
over clouds of disgust and
even some purple green envy
that leaks from cracked and stained ceilings
splashing on empty doorways
and backdrops of calm.

Spread out wide
homeless thoughts that carry no meaning
only the final aspect of a rambling mind
that once had focus and form
taking shape before the obese god of circumstance
finding reason in sweet white ovals
and bitter black squares that melt
across the silver of regret
and run in rivulets of ease
clouding blind eyes and opening
dreams like gifts in piles of colored paper
and pretty blue ribbons
scattered across an empty floor.

And rain glides like oil
down windows that open onto nothing
and the moon reflects itself in
the rotting of never
and sits upon the shoulder
of a tower of tomorrows
laughing in corporeal contadiction
at crumpled possiblitlies
and untasted destinies.

In a white room with no doors
she methodically closes each window
watching as it
becomes smooth and opaque
melting into walls of time
and disappearing into the past,
slowly locking one after the other,
and soon there will be no more
and she will reign
within the silence of herself
where red rock canyons
circle the sky like smoke rings
and the moon sits upon the shoulder
of a tower of tomorrows
laughing
always laughing
at the singualrity of duality
that writhes and contorts
like some rabid court jester
within the minds
of march hares
and men.

phantom...(c) WLA 1-31-2001