Papyrus Scrolls

Spacing Out

I lie on my back in the cool crisp grass
one summer night and I stare into the deep blue-black
that smears itself out before me, mottled here and there
with bright dots.

My mind begins to wander,
drifts away from consciousness and passes into a dreamlike trance.
As I stare they begin to change shape, from stale white circles
into all means of other things.

One enlarges and bloats and becomes a strange craft
zooming towards the earth, covered in brightly colored lights.
Another starship spirals behind, firing brightly colored beams of energy
in attempt to destroy its foe.

Another twists and turns and stretches out into the arms of a satellite.
Blipping and beeping and spinning round,
taking pictures of the Earth’s surface and contemplating
the weather.

A third explodes in a massive burst of color that spirals round
and sprawls lazily into plumes of gas and chemicals.
Brilliant patterns of color and form stretch out and consume all around it
until there’s nothing left.

Yet more slink and connect, forming strange creatures
known to all children, the gods of the night sky
where dragons can slither in between raging bulls and dancing fish
and fierce warriors fending of fiends to protect his lover.

And then as my mind drifts back down from space I remind myself
that such silly contemplations couldn’t possibly exist.
and as I rise to leave I take one more look just in time to see
a shooting star streak violently across the sky, and I can’t help but smile.

Junk-food Dreamin’

Open arms lie empty,
dark stains stretching into each corner
molded over with hard gooeyness
that’s no longer appetizing.
A tripped-up cup of oozing
golden sauce, laced
with garlic and perfect
for dipping that last
crusty morsel, sleeps
defeated on the carpet.
Tiny three-legged plastic table
lies sideways amidst the garbage,
knocked down during a ravage of hunger.
All that remains are longings.
Wishful thinking brings them back;
the warm aroma of spicy tomato that hangs
in the air when the lid is lifted,
the circular treat with its plumes
of steam billowing out from the
scorch-marked white tar that
creeps around the weeping meaty
grease pits. The hiss beckons
salivating taste buds to partake
of the heathen feast of gods
so full of extra calories
that arteries cry out in pain with every bite.
And yet the risk is tossed aside
as the delectable pie is devoured
body and soul. Soggy cardboard
is the only witness and all that remains
is the angry rumbles of desire as
it protests the box’s vacancy.