reds become brown filtering desire through lines of code
she looked at me across the counter, a white plate in her hand
a blue stripe around the circumference of heaven
the fallen called out from the shade, through the holes
of an old coat, their song a switchblade in the wind
this reverie is more blurred than usual, but it gave me hope
light extended even into the night where my innocence wandered off
the next morning the sky was gold but the motel window gave it grit
and the power lines defied the horizon with their potential
on the bus homeward, the city’s staccato sirens giving way at last
to the highway’s hum, i found her message and anointed it with tears
Machine Dreams
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