Sent to the valley, all lips and money,
to fetch a colored gem.
'Send down the troops,
burn the wheeling shifting skies.'
For quiet is the next new thing.
doubted light leaf green, across the plains.
'Spare the bouncing hips, the sun that sets within fortune skies.
Polar shadows creep along to the bad flag tune.'
Yet, we head onward.
more scheduled placemats,
lain against the ebb and flow of the great cosmic ocean.
The time of day when everyone seems okay.
Leave the paint lines yellow.
So I spent today among the plains.
Trying to forget the metal sharks along the electric current stream,
in each blade of grass.
Ancient Prophecies revealed to me,
the openness of shadow on a stark blue day.