Island hopping,
never stopping to
a breath.

Racing through the lace of the sky,
clouds shout, Hi,
I don’t hear them,
only slowing when
the light goes green,
which is the witch in me
being awkward.

Backflow, forward in slow mo’,
side, headlong dancing
I don’t know
where this island hop will take me or
if I will go, just a crazy guy
getting it on with his mojo.

the last train to the last pain
you will ever feel,
dance slow and make it last.

© 2015, John Smallshaw.