Cherish the Froth Years

 

Hanging over heated blankets of concrete afloat on the grandest of schemes. Soft against the humid breathes that all lungs inflate an orbital guidance among the vapors from our lungs to yours. Careful steps tips of toes scattering in the ether, ripples on the airwaves, cosmic turns of paths walking out into the unknown as the unknown looks back in awe wondering how to be. 

Never cresting the wave just rolls forward the progress we hope for just waiting to arrive the jeans we slept in are still pressed, and hugging our legs begging for another round in the dryer. Scented candles fumigating the stench of our bad dreams that pour out of every pore as we sweat to the old days thinking about how they followed us here. Consciously aware of the bread crumbs that circle out and around as we are prey to ourselves always the dog eating the same dog. Always hungry for a new spin on an old joke, a different point of view to the past lives we divorced that still waits for downfall in the front row the curtain calls but never ends as we roll on, we surf the endless nights alone softly the ceiling sighs.

If karma was real these ripples sewed would have drown us in the vapor trails as we drift in this waiting room, avoiding the slow stall. Beads of bad dreams surface only to self care itself to reason that just frames it's haunt among the more famous haunts of our lives. Bread chain of boos, small ghosts, and ugly phantoms that grow from wire tapped arenas of the experience. Small bombs that never went off. Just amiss in the same suspended animation a state of prepubescent bliss they rock back and forth and roll on the wave never cresting. The concrete sizzles as the vapors rise, and the degrees humidify this night time scene.