There’s something organic about the acidic
Free jazz congruence of a short denim skirt and boho moccasin sandals,
Half moons the color of a blood orange
dangling ever so slightly
past the footbed.
Pineal wading in a decollete of scallop patterns
Tightly woven into polyester,
A cream canvas with velveteen flocking;
A Dimethyltryptamine dream of dimethyl terephthalate
Washed in a golden halo of fuzz;
~ an electrocuted nirvana.
This is what summer should feel like —
Ecru eyes that glisten like canary diamonds in the beacon of a police flashlight.
Spaghetti strings of coded data, we ride
Like great snakes through our molecular deserts.
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