Portraits of dead archives,
Lost inheritance.
Paintings of strawberry sweetness
And strawberry kisses.
Of faded T-shirts,
And old love notes
Stained with coffee rings,
Stained with tears
Drifting through
Wilted, subconscious memories.
The past seems like a dream,
And tomorrow is to far away to grasp.
Dead leaves
Paint brown the autumn sky,
And in summer,
Our oceans paint us blue.
Blushing roses paint the dawn
And angel cherry cheeks
Color red our sunset blanket.
Blazing fires, campfires
Burning our bare legs.
A circled letter A,
And kids with colored hair
Shower our American flag
With tiny lighter flames.
Confederate hounds,
Pound our eardrums with
Indian beats,
And moonlit howls
Harmonizing with
Nocturnal intercourse,
Frogs, crickets, birds
And the back and forth squeak
Of rusted porch swings
Blending into,
Midnight sonnets
To paint the cloudy night sky
Orange with street lamps.
Lustful kisses, and
Meaningless sex
In the back of an '89
Toyota pick up,
Painted brown by
Rusted rain drops.
Stale Vodka breath,
Cigarette stench and broken condoms,
Angels paint white our naked bodies,
Drop by drop with
Chaste milk
From the breasts of virgin mothers.
Dandelion lovers,
Painted pink Eskimo kisses
And fornicate like bunnies
In a southern dream
A ringing southern, playboy bell.
Homeless veterans
Liven our subtle streets
With outragouse claims,
One bodied conversations.
From our mothers apple pie,
To Grandpas harmonica solo.
Crushed cans of beer,
Paint yellow our family reunions
With drunk urine
And lifted toilet seats.
Thanksgivings where arguments
Garnish our main course,
Bitter words flavor
Our Christmas apple cider.
The Brandy eggnog
Grandma forbid us to drink as children,
The multi speed bicycle
We lack to see Christmas morning.
And in our youth,
We believed the moving lights
Of airplanes in the night sky,
Was Santa's sleigh.
So excited to pick the tree,
And walk down candy cane lane.
When July fourth is the highlight of our year,
Tailgate liquor,
Barbecued hot dogs dropped in the dirt
And eaten anyways.
The oooh's and aaah's
Of fake amazement,
As fireworks paint our American skies
In Technicolor.
From the first television set
To AOL version 8.0.
Smoking pot in an empty parking lot
While your friend Billy played the guitar,
And a couple of Kurt Cobain wannabe's
Passes around
A stolen bottle of Jacks,
Singing into the night.
Beach weddings,
Funeral receptions held
At Acapulco's happy hour,
Painted black our happy memories.
Zeppelin crackles
On FM radio,
Small town girls,
Mesmerized by the city skyline.
Singing along with Robert Plant,
And painting their brown hair,
Yellow.
We remember our first kiss,
Where stars decorated
Our painted American skies,
Reliving American memories,
Where the movie theater EXIT sign,
Still glows red
Behind our closed eyes.
As we search for the exit sign
Above the door that
Will lead us from our lives,
And into our fantasies.
Where we can relive our first kiss
As often as we like.
High school campuses where
A black girl sporting the newest trends,
Spends lunch everyday
With the only guy on campus
To ever where a Slayer shirt.
Jr. High crushes,
Teen pregnancies,
Reality T.V. can't be farther
From life as we know it.
A poets words
Dance around scented candle smoke,
Pierce the still air.
Sharp like jagged glass
And paint our American skies.
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We are all lost in the dust,
Remnants of what we lack.
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