English Samba

A Poem by T. Smeltz

flowing thoughts

Bus stations surrounding the terminal of imaginary bodies that melt in and out of space. Transparent when they pass by. I do not see them but I see striped gowns worn by Waldos I found when I wasn't looking. Old smells of my home owned by others now cause my eyes to burn. Deep bubbles rock the hydrophones in oceans of minds connected through God. The heads, they bob as I reach the cardboard cut out gloom of England's shore. The bald heads with dark eyebrows come in many shapes as light flashes from paper lightning bolts in skies made in shades of gray. The music sounds as the string thumps beats made hot by the vibrating molecules in my thoughts. Balance balance as I bounce bounce to Samba waves from parties in red dresses; now they slow. Turn around see the ground as I twirl her upside down in minds borrowed from the lost and found; I go.