"The Sass Of My Dreams"
I rode on a gold train painted with the letter "C" in a phosphorescent indigo.
The sky was in a hazy grey glow.
In a dark, raining, thursday's afternoon, later than someplace in June.
There was a silver white moon whistling a transient tune.
The rings of Saturn all show.
They go and grow.
The cars stopping at all bars.
Holy men strummed and sang on forty string sitars.
Nobody knew how to play on guitars.
As far as I could tell, it was a surreal, heaven's hell.
Crawling out of my shell into a mystical well.
I was cast in a spell.
I heard an alarm clock bell near the bed where I fell.
The woman of my dreams tells me not worry.
The voice of fears closed my ears.
Magical apparitions magicians.
What disappears always reappears.
The West is full of cowboys with silver spears.
The East is full of the immigrant's tears.
Colorful language from a radiator that's full of steaming gas.
What comes last in the class.
Is never any good to sass.
By Jonathan Billet
03/23/15
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