The rain drops the sun out of the balance
of the skinny feeling of shiny dreaming.
And the mother of the son looks down
like he's not around. Feeling blue, his
pink sister dances high, with dark eyes
and white lights, sketching her body
through the ground up into the air.

No tomorrow it seems when what desired
falls on reality beyond self empowerment.

Friction creates juice on in to squeeze
feelings of speed and sound.
Pulling the down Up
and making it be that way
for else to stay
and go and come
like it should
like it is when it is. 

Tall
beneath
the grand webs
of the magic tree
unseen to all eyes
but me!

And it's gone...

But it always remains the dim
where this unfinished business
of living without is redeemed.


Don't know when
I'm more at a dream
when I'm wake
or asleep.