CERTAINLY DOCTOR HAVEN  

 
The computer slid into the darkness of my electric neglect, crying for pain in the snow-ropes of random.

Easily aching, the wax of rendered delusions
scrapes the blue wall of defeat.

Will the rug weave the willful drops of the marmalade captain?
Will the night dog bite the wrapper?

Heavenly hues of salamanders pretend to suck the jacket of Ohio.

Warping, wrenching, churning;
for the fruits of the tomato-whale linger purposefully past the tree green penis of time.

Parting, parting.

Candy cane wires of memories leave them
for the froth of integrity.

Never again shall I wade past the silver needle.
Past its  wretched peace.

Passed the purple.

Passed the green.

Past the charcoal clouds, mourning the death of the sun garden.

When the will-bird colors its  eye
greener then the glass of tomorrow,
then the water will free the frog of peace.