Going Down? by John Holland

I have fallen through

the barrier once more.

There I go again.

Floating in a space

that is contained

on the tip of a 

madman’s tongue.

Drifting down 

to yet another

plane of existence.

Past crystal structures

glinting in the light of twin suns. 

Beneath a sky spray painted

on a silver backdrop.

Swimming through

indigo nights and 

persimmon daze.

To light as soft as

a feather on a bed of flowers.

Where sleepers doze on

pastel sheets of music and 

guitar pickers pluck 

notes from trees.

To read to sweethearts

during the soft lilac afterwards

of a scarlet noon.

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