again I must say I format my poems on my computer in ways I cannot here. that's okay, but they may make it hard to read which I apologize for.
CL
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Dreams of Technicolor and old flannel
angels manned (with) firesticks and
sectioned methodmonologues
are vivid in my infidelic dreams(creams)
but you’re there with
peter pan smiles and
tinkerbell mischief
we speak in codedlullabies
and lost boys fly by our bedroom door
and although blackcrows
swashandbuckle in dark shadows and
Hook is a dashingdane
we still parade around
in Technicolor and old flannel
near the blue lagoon filled with
butterflies that is our imagination
And white linen is all we buy(have)
because blood looks better on white
we’re vain
And that’s okay
(wendy is etched into my
back like a branded tattoo
and you save me as
Mephistopheles
rips and squelches the
primroseremedies
for loneliness)
