Panoramic Condensation
My policy is, if it doesn’t have tea stains on it, it ain’t real. On the FM radio, nothing but dreamy fantasy ballads filled with coconuts & dense tropical foliage. People born in these parts wear bananas & oranges, sewn together into shoes or costumes. Just follow the pristine white stretch of sand making a half-circle around the inlet. Next to the swamp, it’s usually raining pineapples & alligators. Did you hear the nightly news? Intravenous iced tea has been legalized in this state! People began passing out all over the house in celebratory fashion. You stepped outside and went elsewhere. Made your own sweet path. Listen to her singing out the window in the dark, it can almost break your heart. Where’d she go? The singer standing next to the wind? She’s asleep in the backseat of a friend’s Cadillac on a northbound highway, whistling through the nighttime. From tonight onwards, you’ll be carrying a picture of her inside your furtive mind, your wandering mind, your calmly creating mind. Now, where were we driving to, going down this dirt road deep in the night woods? Following the excitement in our joyful hearts. Ah, nights full of memories. Ah, dreamlife made flesh. Ah, subtle panoramic condensation.