prevent pile ups. Coming down on me, a few stars. Missed from a galaxy to bring them to me. Tailor made for other; like pearls they seem.

 

        Skyway views to look down upon. Biting my lips again. A professional camera to film the lights. Frontiers reclose from stale beginnings. The high hills are gone. Windows replace them. The lanterns burned out. There are no more lights left to film. Covering ground, held high. Piling on research to find out where they all went. A tubular escape hatch. Narrow passage ways down. Fishermen blast a toxic scene, though it be there. They see but don't know. Head winds blow across the ocean, into tidal waves. A crowded front appears.

 

        Caustic chemicals run onto a beach where the children play so carefree, so happy. The children lick their sandcastles. The debris is swept away by the headwinds or the ocean.

 

 

Corner drugstore, an ice cream cone. Melting over my fingers. It comes out sticky, licked off warm. Dust over the countertop soils my elbows. A sweet feeling between my fingers. Slowly touching the membranes, soft. Little pieces, guided by a curie. Attached to other metal objects. Hurled to see the tiny molecule on the brick of the facing wall. In tiny detail. Microscopic dtail, the mind shoots to see. And stare at. 

 

        Red lumps, cement ridges. So tiny -- to touch it. Mind not drifting. Telescopic eyes into the grain. An instrument clicker as similar to the dots that come and go. Losing a grudge on time. The clock on the wall stops, then the hands revolve around the numbers swiftly, irreverently.

 

        Bands in time displaced. Given for another day to rejoin and swelter in the heat. Fresh air wrapped ina  cellophane tape to carry along, just in case. Leather persuations to delight the rich. A gift in time. Attempting a good fit. Receipt slips get lost. No taking back the cost, pockets treasure, if there's something missing. No refunds. This is it. A pound of weight in candy soothes a bad temperament. Lighthearted people faded away. Menace maniacs tore away. Griping the potters.

 

        The adult world doesn't exist.

RIVER BED   42

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