Sometimes my heart wanders
down roads jammed with fierce drivers
peering out of frosted windows.
Avenues lined with vacant offices and
city clerks crushing coke cans
in endless hallways.
A dialectic of pigeon wings and car horns.
Flap Beep Flap Beep Flap
My mind haunts deserts
lonelier than far reaching pluto
and her many moons.
Nobody but me and the road-runner,
chasing the next big adventure
towards a horizon that keeps sinking.
My imagination gets stuck
in rusty attics,
full of outdated, dusty maps
of non-existent treasure.
Old apple orchids stand
inside my head
shading dense undergrowth.
They harbour butterflies but obscure the light.
In my sleep I travel to soft fields,
floating sheets of buttercups
with hills woven towards the sky,
till the scene permeates with emptiness.
Your voice enters the hollowness and
paints my world with peace.