Dave dreams at night of erotic dancers surging by their voices aren’t too shy for his close comfort

But he struggles in the brew and in the darkness enclosed in his room he hides under covers, unwilling to accept air’s wonder

He encompasses the capacity of his surrounding state with notions of good and thoughts of hate

He does not dare to whisper He does not care to learn He just wants to burn.

I rode a yellow bike last summer
We peddled through tall grasses
and all the sweet molasses

We climbed a hill
And let the sand roll
Off our young backs
And we watched the world
Upon that cliff
Loosening at our feet

Skipping rocks by the dirty pond
Accompanied by a dirty family of ducks
Dirty clouds came pouring in
But clean rain was followed by clean kisses

I rode a yellow bike this summer
But that bike fled from me
And peddled away as fast as it could 

Mark your vagueness 
By the flow of your words 
You’re not returning to the surface
Nor will you ever let me know
that I have struck a chord. 

I keep trying to sleep,
in the solitude of my room,
in the warmth of my sheets,
in the security of my blanket.

But I close my eyes,
and all I can seem to trace
are flashing images of cream colored dogs
with fizzled eyes scurried in a tizzy.