on the rollercoaster of thoughts

flying from these fingertips,
a lack of words  that  roars through my head like the  universe.

Ben Franklin is failing   at experiments
in  the Coney island  basement of ferlingetti's soul.
a  Tibetan   book of living and dying  , is  stolen from a  bag  of broken
be-bop records.
her soft  white ears  are being  kissed by roses blooming  into  self
sacrificing laser beams etc................

citrus mornings  under  goose down
 lie   awake  in salvidor dali  splendor.

subtitle dreaming   of when we were nine and
 she was  my  royal blue marry poppins  pushing me higher and higher on the
swing.
a soft lens, photographic memory of her 
laughing and smiling glows in the darkest part of my brain like
white teeth shimmering in the golden afternoon sun.
II.
flowered baby blue soft cotton sundress,
floppy straw hat,  red candy sunbeam fingertips,
mother of pearl incandescence  glowing  from within, 
as a  permanent aching.
an itch to never be scratched.
a reoccurring  uncontrollable urge
to create something   part her and part i

III.
once in a lifetime  there is a  release  of god  in  our breath..
hope turns to truth
and  we
becoming  one,
denounce the  most glorious mistake  of our lives
then make  it....
souls  are reborn through  new generations...
lighting is  with out escape.
a lion in a cage cowers from the crack of a whip........
her whirlwind  turns me instantly  into ashes.

smoke detectors laugh and  break into a broadway musical number,,,

on a rollercoaster of thoughts
its  us,
flying over  the lack  of   popcorn,
covered in  wishful butter.......
we are melting into songs
that float through other decades

that part between now and then
(before bones)
is what we must make the most of.


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