Poetry Friday (16)

To whom it may concern:

So it is Poetry Friday time, but as you may have noticed, Poetry has not been forthcoming on every Friday, so may I note for the future that Poetry Friday will most likely not be EVERY
Friday, but instead, some Fridays.

Sailboats

My dragonflies are mounted by wisps
whose ocher hair is made from the seas
of other worlds. Waves of grass,
and paper whales, float on a almond breeze.
These are my sailboats.
Vast acre sails spun of visions,
the bow is a fantasy, the rudder, a tale.
I want my wooden token, foggy dreams,
to play an arcade that is on the backs of
centaur's teeth, smiling like a fan,
spinning in the arctic heat.
I am on my sailboats.
Sextant at the setting sun,
floating in the sky.
I sleep in soulless rabbits, with pouches,
like the kangaroos, which are eating
vermilion cotton candy made from
viking maps of the universe, and
written on Balder's skull.
Come with me on my Sailboats.
The wake will leave you sleeping,
rocking in the crystal hammocks.
I say they say I'm crazy, but is it crazy
to know the world is upside-down, like
the thoughts in my head but backwards,
violet violas played with your toes, their
music is a sticky down, the kind
you take from the penguins of the state.
Welcome to my sailboats.
We set sail for sanity tomorrow,
with the first wind from the mind.

I hope you enjoyed it,
Until next I write,

Adam