bugs in my brain and salt on my skin

bugs in my brain and salt on my skin. toast tossed and kicked aside like some strange midnight timekeeper. standing on the banks of the swollen channel, i look west and north, refuse to look right. figs and follies aboard the passing ship. sin sailing away over there. peaches rolling against wet side boards and crusted hooks sunk into aging doorframes. beach grass bent. ancient signals sent. the glow of the summer sun and smiles and coolers and neon car spoilers and gritty flip flop walks to the late city bound bus. then, the couch, crackers and dreams of soft rocks and broken bits of candy corn. the glow fades to green and haze and good turns to bad and right turns to left. scratched skin and darkness packed into tight, shallow corners. three legged chairs and rope and breakfast tables with no edges and tilting bathroom sinks and cracked, rippled plastic countertops. the blur, bends aroung the missing key and the rack of lamb drops to the floor, the bubble in the level isn't there at all anymore. the confusion continues with the madness of a balding rooster mocking a proper stool pigeon. it all paralizes the wandering afterschool program director. then, the alarm sounds and the briefcase carries me to work.