A dream I had made me write this. I remembered most of it, filled in what escaped, and had fun.
Last night I wayfared barefoot in Kokomo,
to surf blacktop roller coasters,
hook rides with naked strangers
to two-pin bowling alleys for hot dogs,
and contraband llamas, but
instead conjured up blankets of pines
and hinterland miles of red clay salvation--
homestretch yearning to save
my weary soles.
Later, while moonlight swimming in electric j-ello,
Some cool jive heister stones me
with these hard blows he smokes,
steals into my scene
and trash talks me for days
with ghosts clothed in my lowdown,
echoing their sadistic siren calls
to steer me clear of trifling ways.
Morning comes and there I was
double-knot bowtied to a wax finger,
floating a foot above guerrillas who
spar bare-knuckled with my fancies,
as I rubberneck around covert truths
and jolly fabrications,
to sneak peeks toward dunes
where fools shape sand castles
with grains of my stark regrets.