falling off the map

turn a corner,

end up in the crimson alley of the eye.

the grass on the sidewalk is green,

fresh.

but it all seems draped in red

with sly darkness beneath

forming shadows, gaining shape.

sit down,

and try to move on.

peer outside the eye,

and watch their painted faces

smile

in the bright moonlight

stuck outside.

wait,

for the next time.

to hear whispers, louder

than the voices on the microphone.

watch the sounds

skin the air

and brush past the ear.

head high,

trapped in it.

and all that you mix never seems enough

when the sea runs like the train

and the stars swim to the left.

behold friends,

the road is my bride.

let there be stars,

and there were stars .

brighter than a million suns

at first sight,

to blur out leaving only a memory.

and the smoke brings salvation;

untrue yet pure.