Our laylow was his idea.
Visibility, check.
Seclusion, check.
Sweat dripped from truck men
In obscurity across the creek.
Docile, preoccupied,
Hefting with bitter resolve.
Fear fueled my fervent glances,
Losing light to rotation.
Every passing traveler, a warning.
Billy’s wide hands stayed steady,
Aiding inevitable ascent.
It was a simple setup.
The device glowed, full of sun
Ladies first, so it was mine –
Mountains of fingers stretch
Toward, away from, into
Caricatures of fragile faces
Arcs, cerulean lasers
Lines of action break and reform
Branches are electric vines
The creek whispers secret ballads
Gasp and clutch at awareness
Where’s the water?
Parasites devour us
Closed eyes grant no escape
Fabric is too textured
Ensembles of geometric fruit
Infiltrate once-private mental cabinets
Hexagon apples, triangle grapes
Swirling nebula cast out roots
Latch onto exposed skeleton
Sound is sight is smell is touch
Who? Where? Doesn’t matter
Neon leaves spiral, not aimless
Each tree, an instrument
Capable of creating intricate
Sensory lineages
“Is it too warm?”
“Nah.”
It was concrete in my mouth.
I began to gather objects,
Fumble for a cigarette.
We had come with so much.