Passerine Dreams

surfing through
It's kind of like;
fat paintbrushes all dipped in white
then dappled over wave and hill an'
crushed against the rising sky.

somewhere midst this morning plight,
wings tremble in the on'rous flight
of thirty two grade negative but wander lusting mind

and someone's pulling out your feathers
wax'd aero dynamic sweaters
Shakespeare making quills out of
the spines you've left behind.

and he'll scratch songs but you won't hear them
strung high in your vaulted ceilings
whole world whistling Dixie
in your ears as you blow by

maybe south there's coffee berries
bold red buds with bitter cherries
EKG oscillating as you barrel roll for miles

All you know is where you’re going
Stop when the bar tips over, glowing
The compass needle whips around,
if you could sweat it’d bead your brow
Throw yourself at the sovereign ground
And PRAY