fragment arrangement

moments
of mad lonely
myth
in the flesh with
perfect
foregrounds
and backdrops
and the shadows falling as if scripted


it was 1950's silhouette
hilltop, opulant
moon rising
he, star glint wine bottle
(the glass of it winking in the dark)
dangling from loose fingertips
(in the fragile balances of pressure),
raised a
romantic fist
to lonliness, to tomorro
defying fate
denying his stars


these are tumble weeds
dreams
the words collected and strained
from rivers
through tight lips
drained
condensed
from car windows
at 90
the whole rabid world
blowin by
these are women and men
with something
trapped or breaking
these are symbols
etched
painstakingly
in
stones


it was autumn
gold
it was the texture
of crisp electricity,
the polarized molecules,
and the sound of
car engines behind gleaming grills
she
was caught in
a momentary wind
and she was
only real
in a world's
loosest sense


he was romantic
vigorous
tears in the knees
of his jeans
saintly
as silhouette
in the doorway
before
evaporating
into another night
of car headlamps
as roads to heaven
and damp
glistening
texture