Sometimes I feel out of touch with nature.
I'm boxed in.
Three walls (so cliche) block the sun
Tumbleweed flyers beg us not to litter
Drivers-by with handheld devices
Distract themselves from the marshmallow clouds.
One-legged birds refuse to fly and get fatter
And fatter and fatter.
X-ray Granny turns trash into treasure
And Poi Boy hula hoops the Zen Buddhist way.
I drag my hand through the sand for a feeling;
It's all stale and rust and rubble from the past,
Once new and exciting to someone
Who no longer is here and no one remembers.
Cue the crickets and the Vitamin C lights
That stain the trees and filter my dreams 'til morning.