Pixelatum

He sits alone on the waiting wing somewhere under a western sky with star breezes blowing chemtrails fading looking for a way to get to the shore where the drinks are plenty and love was gold and the nights were alive under the eyes and the covers and the curtains drawn in the stained glass mirror where the thunder droned and the ripples sprayed fire onto the river banks He swayed when he slept a baby in a storm carried on moon beams riding on the sea with shatter glass beneath his feet fallen clouds beneath the street a road of sinew and lye flooded with miles and minutes until the break of day He cast his net into the sand and pulled sweat and clay into a ship with no sail a shelter without teeth tethered to the ground buried in buckets of snow painted white and dancers headed to the other side radiated pillows dipped in chocolate and cocaine and hornet smiles wedded to crimson stains and anchors made of galaxies lost to the depths of time