Jun 9
Baby Blue Crosley
Hidden in the corner of the dream,—
Lying in mesmeric grass growing sweet
And pure as fiction/jazz/all that never lasts—
A fragment of the future buried in the past.
The freshly painted/dilapidated fences of paradise,
The driftless widening billboard sky,
The sunset burning like a cigarette,
The eternally vivid gazing spirit,
The overflowing glass of shade spilling
The ashes of endless summers turning
The days into gardens of grey.—
Beyond—the border of the dream. The haze.
