Straight Line

A guest at this party
I'm watching the sun
drunk in the exosphere
spill champagne all over
the white cloud tablecloth
of a gathering
storm.....from a park swing
shards of old car tires
in my moccasins.....stuck
in the bottoms of my feet

for now
everything sparkles gold
and my mouth is full
of fire

it's a good thing
you're not here
or the words would burn
your skin would grow hot in the face
of the flames

I always contemplate
foreshadowing after the fact
when it's easy to see
when time has eroded
some route of understanding
back to the situation in question
its newfound poignancy reddening my eyes
like cigarette smoke in the wind

tonight there is no use
for retrospect.....there is still time
before I need to run inside
wind my windows shut
so my brain builds elaborate dialogues
from sticks and grass
while vertigo explodes
in my gut
during the split
second between
rising and
falling

and I do this.....wishing
for the momentum it might take
to catapult myself into these dramatics
of other-worldly social functions
until there is only a filter
in my fingers
and the ash has carved a trail
beside my feet
in a single straight line