Wise Cotton-Candy Quest

Wise Cotton-Candy Quest

My imagination fingers the crevasses of my mind,
poring through memories with ice-cold fingers
that make me scream in sexual elation.
My memory massages; in, out, perfect
LCD screens so poignantly pure,
pictures so indescribably, magically wise,
causing fissures in my paradigm,
and I slide.

I slide through night and through day
a tango under a moonbeam, smoke lifting
from winter chimney to coco winter day.
Genuine season of Santa Clause’s hearty delight.

And friends lift you up
to your orgiastically-calm silent plateau
of spirituality, and you live now for fandangoing humanity.
From Kokomo to the muddy banks of Wishkah,
eyes see farther than science allows.

I’m going to pound for the rest of this life,
because I am a concert, a mighty stand
for pencil truth and wide-eyes chortles,
I thrum.