Friday, October 7, 2011

pinhead (all of my angels caught dancing)

the first-class red-eye to the sanest stretch of night’s crossing;
lounging, sleeping, melting

a halo of beloved cats.

“Boze, it’s my favorite time of the day!”

these inward travels—laying here—fetal—suffuse with color
—opioid, nearly.
dance me all the way to some orange edge.

—show me joy!