Running Away With Me Again

Timing is everything, 

Particularly in dreams.

Each of us is a sponge:

Absorbing, capturing, wiping away;

Then rinsing with exercise,

Or a shower,

Or a confession

To remove the stains.

Ah, but they remain

Until we sleep.

Then, and not as often

As one might like,

The vast cavern

That holds secrets

Hidden to the heart

Pulls back the curtain

In patterns and scenes that

Redefine measured random.

Or maybe it’s just my imagination —

Running away with me again.

Sometimes the path

Is paved with billboards

Offering options,

Portals with levers.

Which century?
What location?
What does it mean

That we have this choice?

The future lurks with the past:

Just out of touch.

Slouching near a street light

With a 40s smoke

And a Raymond Chandler sneer,

Someone who resembles Robert Mitchum

Inhales the vision

Of a sultry beacon

In a skin-clutching, 

Flaming dahlia number

Perhaps two sizes small

And about a hundred times too perfect.

He offers her a light, and she replies

with Camel-influenced resonance,

"It's going to be a bumpy night."

Some say they trust in the universe.

Others find comfort in ideals.

History sheds some light,

But not everyone reads these days.

Around the corner

It’s 1969.
A couple in tie-dyed bell bottoms and

Wild hair wave at a kid on a scooter

With an iPhone 10 who

Gets a text from his grandparents,

Hippies from way back when.

Just whose imagination

Was running away again?

Hip-hop Hamilton

Might be

Cultured Stones,

Which might be

The Marx Brothers

On Wall Street.

Whatever gets you through

Makes you more complete.

Peanut butter finds chocolate;

Basil embraces ginger.
But where is Mary Ann?

Still on the island,

Working the phones

Screening calls from 8 zillion guys

Somewhere on the path from junior high

To a motel room with purpose.

Bigger pictures

Come in widescreen,

As do the fantasies

Of the moment.
The clock ticks toward

A brand new year;

A brand new start.

Maybe one that finds

Truth and ethics back in favor;

Maybe one that

Pulls an abrupt halt

To this reign of charlatan terror.
Can I get an amen?

Or is it just my imagination —

Running away with me again?