as I walked through the golden meadow looking, smelling
like some 30's or 40's picture show, with soflight and
smooth skin
beauties drifting out lazy melodies
the orchestra played in the trees
the singer flitted in and out and I
grasped the conversation for a split second
OH why thinkers take words and splay them
out across time limited - like ships
they carry us - we ride
i returned to the meadow, after a lot of
thinking and re-splicing
the melody
so that I could carry on a decent conversation
only the trees remained
timeless rhythm swept the meadow and I
forgot to sing.