This is what happens when I write in altered states:

…..Rousseau your bones are soft and sit gently across the world and I think about feeling the shape of our leader. Drinking his words in trembling midnight lands where red songs are in my head and fireflies are burning in the foothills of sad mountains.  Our love light as a feather rushed under the shiny, shiny teeth of the sun full of knowing, guarding the caves of our mouths.  The spewing of the comets set us free and standing in the grasses of wannabe Georgia plains, she is sure she wants to show him she knows the taste of honey resting on her tongue like a membrane resting on a cell.  And in the kiss around Redwood giants we melt into shining mirrors of heavenly drifting winds, chosen where there’s no turning back. Ours to own we can rest with comfort knowing there’s no turning back.  Full of knowing-seeds of rescue and love move in directions I can’t control, so I just show him. I am sure and rest the bounty of my extended moon over his garden, finding myself shaking and dancing in the fuzz of momentary glances, peeking into the resting darkness that encompasses our vast nothingness.  She is sure-she is sure…….

Currently Reading: The Fall by Albert Camus; Atlanta Review: Istanbul and Beyond-Turkish Poetry edited by Jeffrey Kahrs and Mel Kenne;

On this day: 1931- Ben Boloff convicted under Oregon anti-anarchist law; 1970- Isla Vista, Santa Barbara Bank of America burning