selling the stars

backed up over there against the clovered bank. horizontal with brows barely visible. the scratched surface reveals itself from behind the barn, kittycorner to the branding palace. crystal clear and crystal light, cost of goods and costa mesa. the blanket above with no links to voices on the end of a black plastic clip-on phone attachement device. the evening error lends itself to passages and bags of leftover salad. blanket, rumpled and solo, i have gone to meet the maze man. not far from the sand bar or the chain or the barbed main office entrance. the amber glow from the neighbors pork bellied pot teaser distracts but only for a moment. a flash from the distance distracts. a brief moment of breath, circling around the granite weight of reality. then i resume and the stars consume and i wait for this passing phase to sink its teeth into the soft and fleshy remains of my last great hope.