Aaron Leighton


Somewhere, out past the painted russet sunsets
A soul-strumming singing cowboy sails a ship set for summer
Where the trees blossom in memory of the present
And the soft baked flower-coated air kisses your cheek
Afternoons nap on the porches of forgotten promises
Where no one senses their age
And it stays the same in my mind forever
Summer that touches the banks of sweet water
The borders of fall distantly shimmer vaguely
Like dream-speak whispered tenderly
That same cowboy strolls among the stars counting constellations
Out of touch with the over-grown-up reality
So taxed by consumption of the center soul
Graduated degrees of freedom
Populated with young lover boys only working for the weekend
Loitering on the corner of true blue American sandlots
Entranced from that still semi-present sensation from 1927 while Babe was still at bat
Before the houses built by prefabricated dollars fell down
When the wind collected honeysuckle, sea breeze and fireflies
Pressed to the background of blue-black skies swimming with barbeques and beer
Lined with fresh cut grass and forget-me-nots
My oh my that American pie, slices all over the summers all over our planet
That cowboy fires off bursts of firework colour
Seared to the backs of his retinas long after he’s drifted to sleep
Wrapped in a blanket of unconscious creation
Freestyling with Harold’s purple wax sceptre
The king of the wild westward windswept wanderers
Who tend to stumble home in twilight, chest filled with breath

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