Baked Dreams; part 1 (formerly This Ancient Thread; Strand 4, Part 1)

Evening was our oyster, the Juggling Suns
jamming square pegs in our circular holes:
at least that's how it felt, our heads compressed,
cracked and crushed.
Laughter, big thoughts, levitation,
and smooth anticipation driving nails: music
that drifts to eardrum and plays like harp strings gently tugged.

Open field tucked into trees and Old Main,
crisscross of pathways:
soft gray splotches of people
students sitting in circles casting soft shadows in the dark of night.

The World Turtle led the way:
beak pointed north, the universe at her beck and call.
Thus she led us into day turned gray then night,
but not lies led on high
enjoying our destinies as if fate itself could be contained in this uncontrollable world.

The World Turtle and us her disciples,
following as dogs wag tongues,
and the saliva they drip
evaporated but slowly in the humid State College air.

This Ancient Thread; Strand 4, Part 1, Draft #1

Tactile rainbows night of new feelings
symptoms of social order-system shock
too hard to ignore too soft to grasp
white knuckled in late evening's failing light.

Evening was our oyster, Juggling Suns
jamming square pegs in our circular holes:
at least that's how it felt, heads compressed,
our little brains crushed too full to cracking with laughter, big thoughts,
levitation and smooth anticipation driven nails: music
that drifts to eardrum and plays like harpstrings gently tugged
melody pure.


The World Turtle led the way:
beak pointed north, the universe at her beck and call.
Thus she led us into day turned gray then night,
but not lies led on high
brownies prepped the week before in a kitchen off campus,
enjoying our destinies as if fate itself could be contained in this uncontrollable world.

The World Turtle led the way, dark splotched in the rarefied starlight,
and us her disciples, followed as dogs wag tongues and drip saliva,
evaporating but slowly in the humid State College air.