is this a poem or the release of a full bladder
after several long bouts of intoxication?

the pressure builds
the feeling is urgent, i catch myself running
to sit, split my mouth and let the confetti fly out

confetti this time, really?
one comes to expect the soft toulle of a garment
or waves like an ocean
perhaps music
i always hope for a little music

it funnies me too
the shades that emerge
in the splinters of glitter
blue then green then something i've never seen before
something that either scares me or draws me in closerrrr
it's always a fine line
a thin gloss
a look then a turn
a wink then a high tail

it's not that i don't trust you, dear friend
you and i know better than that
we've shared the same skin
the same heart
the same passion and pulse
it's been exciting, blessed be it is true
it's just the surprises that exist behind every corner
the surprises that kick scream jump
behind
every
corner

like this one
this small moment of reflection, of expansive sight
is a surprise
i sit now in my helicopter hovering
my bubble for one floating high in the sky
catching light on my glassy globe
marveling at its fancy
making love to the blue
cooing like a kitten
looking & seeing so far
in so many directions

and maybe it's not a surprise
these soft times, they come at the same time every year
every season, every hour
like the autumnal part of the day when the wind quiets
and the leaves drop
and you walk with no rush admiring each fallen gem
remembering its life
before trying to figure out what cool craft you'll make with it during the winter

mossy nests of nostalgia they are
nostalgia of paris, nostalgia of norway
nostalgia of farms and giggling creeks
and the lacy shadows of trees on a cool, wet path
nostalgia of walking into the golden embrace of a rustic kitchen
like the natural museum of a garden
with your lover there to meet you
to laugh with you
to spill flour and rub noses
a home that never quite felt like home
nostalgia, nostalgia, you prankster nostalgia

on second thought:
i adore you nostalgia
you hold on only to what is true
that home was really a home at times
if only for those split seconds that resonate through time
to now

they serve as arrows and road markers to the truth we are building
the trick is in trusting
the trick is in biting the bait
see,
i nibble fantasies with my morning fruit
i sip fairy tales for lunch
i know now what really feeds me
i have tasted the stuff of dreams and i know it is real
i look for it everywhere

look for the child with paint on its face
mud in its toes
the world in its hair
eyes,, the mirror reflection of a mirror
and skin the gift of 24 long summers