68, 69, this is me hovering
An indeterminate, long and drawn out
I have been gone too long
Dilemmas turn to lost thought turn to nothingness
At long last, I am empty.

I slipped on the desert sand as if returned to
glossy slickness and empty days beneath
the snow belt clouds laid out
beneath the stars now drifted and
slipped into supermodel dreams,
an interminable distraction
ignoring the reality of my condition.

Ah, but without pretenses
to dream.