I can fly,
If only I should die,
But I need her wings,
Saints of Latter Days,
Lakefront hopes and dreams and spider webs we weave,
Believe in magical creatures and beings and tears and grieves,
House and Wares and meaning and chaos and joys and chords of harmony
Neighbors adjacent to sunsets and speckles and spots and drops and treetops
Radio flying and miring and dancing on the spires of gargoyle surprises
Sea walls and free falls and get ups and justice, and luscious, she touched us
This muse, this cupid, this ubis, this groupness, this selflessness majesty,
A force not unlike gravity, this attraction, this connection, this lesson, this question
My wings are spread open and my hope is just open with slopes of emotion
Crestful my greatness in a tidal of quake shifts that tide with the lake shifts
A ponchatrain of laterals, an opera of adjectives, a centerfold of love
Crepes a la carte on the edge of the earth with dusk sets and mirth
Eyes to Eyes they interlock with laces of tastefulness that taste of gratefulness
We wander upon as we stumble upon the last of our days and our grasp of the rain
As showers upon showers of sea salt engulf us and we surf to the sea bottom
The powers of hours as we lay in aquamarine and we possum in styx of gotham.
We sleep interlocked in arms and phalanges and our eyes light up.
As we drift into angels of eternity into the underwater Andes.
Cycling in spoke sirens we breathe the shrill screams of love.
Frozen forever for the ripples to echo through Orleans timewaves.
There lay the lost city of Atlantis,
Where love and freedom failed to die.
— -Written Off the wings of my bicycle