i think i freaked out the flowers
but i just can't comprehend why life is such a bother,
such a serious box.
if i can't give you the freedom of New Zealand
at least a blog, the pasta, our cat framed in the dense sleepy devotion
of my morning shower mist.
i can imagine your soul for adventure like a color-changing bead:
valuable in the true sense like caught molten sunlight, now golden
like a racing heart pulled, just in time, from the government hologram of worklife.
if my imagination is smaller than Costa Rica
then i've been waiting for the universe to be un-proven,
and we can shake off the long stare of expecting life-
we'll go grab a beer or two- in love.