I love little clouds
the chubby children of heaven and earth
I remember them each time I put on
my sunglasses
because the heat
brings back memories of the warrior
in a dusty leather suit
the search for energy and gas
is just an attempt to replace oblivion
with a pointless drive
yes, I knew many born at gas stations
who lit cigarettes against the tired rolled-up hose
and got nothing but flashes of unsold visions
time works for the crazed
yuppies and ex-flower children
they need to take a shower in
cement blocks
very gently
the sun can’t stand stale irises
black sun in a purple robe
on the threshold of a new home
this is the beginning