I could spell it all backwards in the bubbles let out.
I left the sand asleep in my boat shoes
While consciousness sunk into my head again.
But we've got cars, buses, trains, and planes,
And blacklit gifts for the textual stains.
In the simplest way to alter the page,
The iconic chords of rolling hills
Were ironic shots traded with what we got
At what we once had, or thought.
Time-slapping, eyes closed,
Belting the words we've always known,
I drove down California in a dream,
Silhouette palm trees, red to green.
The dawn stretched neurons from behind my eyes
Before the lights went out and the evening died.
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