For Brisbane Boy. CpSingleton (c) 2014
In dreams that pick from forty sights,
I see us like we all once were.
You, the man that mirrored my laughter.
Not sniggering at the world’s expense.
Ours was cerebral. A dice thrown
Which lands on several numbers at once.
Our eyes saw dancing mice, dressed
In the red and black of
Long ago military figures.
Our fingers flicked through books
That giggled with each page that
Was lightly turned and turned again.
We drew a door on wood chip walls and
Slid into worlds of beatnik poems,
Written on battered guitars with loose strings.
We sat beneath stars that landed
Lightly, like whispered thoughts,
Around our rubber crossed legs.
I miss your bright-light meanderings
Through silly-string rooms.
I miss our carpet rides to other seasons.