Your perfect happiness is--clasping cerulean
As it crawled along the side of the road.
Underneath of homeless signs I've overlooked,
Eager to return to the stove's boiling pot,
This blue plastic snake, that you washed
In your black volcanic soap--yes, the exhaust,
The traffic was advancing at a crawl--your waving
Arm and bent divining rod wears away error.
Just when I cease to lose sight of the focus
The morning's cobbling of blue pills in a drug crisis
These sideways corrections of the therapist,
Our travels are, as such, lengthwise and legless.
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