Dreams

Dreams

Red flowered whore wives don the red boats sunk jets and fly madhouse dragons chasing dreams.

They roll like thunder their silk hair strands through clouds of smoke and steam with screams of power like conquerors not slaves.

Jade ringed crimson clad women are also free now, no longer night walkers but war makers their lady fine wrists crushing an innkeeper.

His body rots somewhere dirty.

& now flying high

again the phoenix women’s angry eyes scream comets across 1930s makeup crusted on lilac faces like war paint thirsty for a rematch.

& now silver gleam & cleaver handed with iron faces heated they seek war gold in the temple halls of mad men fever pitched with fright.

Mad men drunk eyed stare mind-broken sad watching dragon women whore bitches destroy another iron statue with cleavers (some sage Christian).

& now too the sunset blazes madcap lion mained and fire dipped drowning warm pink cloud shapes into the stars like fizz.

And everywhere and all the time the blazing universe folds up with dragon women and mad men into red shapes, into star shapes, into new thoughts and into forever chaos all mixed together; flower born flower formed, blooming.