A souped-up para...(my take off on dream deferred)

Prostitution of dreams

Versatile, multi-tasking
superfluous waxy batty vain
fantasizing phantasmagoric marshland
orchestrator of meandering hopes
bends lit with possibilities with high improbability neon signs blinking rapidly
stutter down another bend oozing a sordid waste of time
in curvaceous gutters
of grey
speckled with history
stinking
with all the incompleteness
debris of attempts
swirled thick
by the fast flitting /by a feeble rustling
will.
Internal marijuana
nerve ends twitch in anticipation
collector of broken, ancient
and sometimes in tact memories of the darnedest things
showcased on either sides of the glass tunnel.
What’s in a look?
Why you turn yourself into a closet?
Why you want to be an urn
Of Vegas’ scraped shimmer?
Flushed
you shrug off this and take on one
of an inconspicuous spy
as though that was you of those beatnik days
tattoo on shoulder and Woodstock.
Never made it to a reading
Never been really
Flux
Now more sober, assimilate,
break down distortion to create
your way of noise
twitch as a small facial muscle ticks
to an unseen threat.
Contain excitement in a fragile canister
when something is discovered
rotate 360 as though turning over a colourful sea worn shell
like a kid would
with awe, exhilaration…quizzical.
Glean
There’s time still
Instead you nuzzle
In the nook of vanity
State your twisted way with a pomposity
make you a cult
wallowing
in cardboard sets
of what could have been
dressed in wine red
with a dash of more discerning faculties (?)
A kushy life for your pedestal
When will you ever let them all be
Out of rut