Planks and rapiers, masts and cabins,
built from stone and brick, of mule and diamond
from the hands of mammoths and massifs,
through the tears of railroads and mountains,
the fears of forests and rivers, this ship that glides
through the heavens hold no bounds upon the clouds.
Alone it sleeps, that single ship slips across
the horizon, far from view, as a lonely man
cries on top of little mounds of white fluff
formed from marshmallow and down.
The golden marble of the ledge is scratched
with talons and fingerprints, and a man
sits by himself, throwing out a handful of dust
of meat to the hawks with heavy heads and large black wings
hovering in circles, glistening the tears of man with
their own tears.
No longer does the silver sun shine in the hallow sky
with traffic lights blinking on, but never off.
The once wide and open sky hovers through the
smog and fog of machines and dreams, created
by man's once epic and noble desire to scour
the heavens with nothing more than a telescope
and a pen/paper.
Maps are useless, games forgotten, toss over the ledge
with the meat and the marbles, over to the sea
deep and into the stomach. Create the dream once more
and leave alone the parrot, purple and dark,
wise and apart from the rest sits the treasure of the game,
followed and through the dream is the mark of the man,
a hand lies in the grim of the day, past the morning,
thorugh the stars and cars that run amok
streaks of blue and silver, red and gold, black and yellow,
green, all colors float through the marked sea of modern times,
with no thought to the morning.
Left alone, his wingless dreams, fall to the concrete
with the meat and the marbles. No hawks to catch him
no dust in the air, no trail to find, no second morning,
no starlight to guide, nothing is left within the air,
and now, all the leaves fall to the ground.