Sunday, November 11, 2007

The Cadillac of Cancers.

You watched me eroding 
through your hazy periphery,

with Canon in D Minor sliding
through the speakers.


Heart jumping hurdles with no saddle.
I slid through book shelves, rode
the hours of time

And was hurled off of time's spine
into a concussion of surreality.

I'm not a smoker, I'd rather
take hits off of your CO2 anyday.