travu2
The Fly
Waterpark
You can see a slight variation, a rivulet,
in the flowing skin like a buzzing
metropolis left in the sun.
Their timeless heads were imposed on the side.
You still go up to the backyard
to fill an empty water-dish.
The scattered remains of chalky toys
are like sputniks in the shade.
Old wind chimes lose their glow
in the patio where the visitors are
camouflaged. You slide open the glass door
and pad down the hallway to look for clothes.
They never could see you, so they don?t know
when you?ve slowed to a stop
at that same fast-food restaurant,
on your only stretch of freeway.
These happy workermen here in
the sky should build a house for you;
you think you?d melt in those shimmering pools;
the entire horizon is heaving.
Like a lost hummingbird you
barely sip a coconut shake.
That wavy blue wall of adobe houses
still has your name in its phone book.
And a seven-hour song is collecting
around the singer?s euphoric mirage,
just above the horizon where
one billion blue goldfish have been sedated.
You can see a slight variation, a rivulet,
in the flowing skin like a buzzing
metropolis left in the sun.
Their timeless heads were imposed on the side.
You still go up to the backyard
to fill an empty water-dish.
The scattered remains of chalky toys
are like sputniks in the shade.
Old wind chimes lose their glow
in the patio where the visitors are
camouflaged. You slide open the glass door
and pad down the hallway to look for clothes.
They never could see you, so they don?t know
when you?ve slowed to a stop
at that same fast-food restaurant,
on your only stretch of freeway.
These happy workermen here in
the sky should build a house for you;
you think you?d melt in those shimmering pools;
the entire horizon is heaving.
Like a lost hummingbird you
barely sip a coconut shake.
That wavy blue wall of adobe houses
still has your name in its phone book.
And a seven-hour song is collecting
around the singer?s euphoric mirage,
just above the horizon where
one billion blue goldfish have been sedated.
