Seeing the White Fence

There, passed by tractors and convertibles,
hands fluttering unbeknown to a naive eye,
flickering grains of refuge
left by the breeze of teenagers - their long skin
seeking those sands and suns of independence...

or he says, ego is self-contained,

renders the unamused.
Terrible lack of animosity,
here? Post-haste me your thoughts
my dearest betrothed... felled voluptious
tree,
innocuous branching of fate
that yearns like lengthwise pavement,
a heart (is that what I really meant?)
parallel to a grey de-summarized sky.
Only humanity could go more unnoticed.
Not really sky, I should think,
or light years away... not really
justice, he said.

They say it rains when it pours,
that ditches cannot feel pain,
and freshly cut shrubs don't need
the rich impediments of a newfound spring
that they will be warm and speckled
where-ever they land --- like whiteness
on an innocent wooden fence, like a gate,
unopened, or dichotomies... ever-present
torrential streams. Blue-boxes
at the edge of a gravel driveway.

I do not check the Recycle Bin anymore
but I still adore you... how does one say

au revoir without really meaning it?

GOODBYE.
GOODER-BYE.
DO-WID-ZENIA.
Effing OFF... for now.

. HEARTfelt MIKA.