proud as a flamenco dancer
lost all ambition but the
here and the high kick of adrenalin,
nobody to talk to,
scorching through loud loneliness in a
model rocket fashion
not ready to go home,
pour me another blast, this rocket's got stages, yes,
by the time the plastic parachute releases,
i'll be wandering home through street parties projected by my eyes
a tequila flooded street
standing straight as any static point of reference can say
and there is aftermath in parabola
(you have disturbed the universe)
we never know how to make ourselves happy so
we are never at home
time to go now and nowhere else but down
there is nothing more but to wander through
thin atmosphere
hallucinating whirling dervish
& flames
seeing signs of tomorrow and
feeling the gravity shift from side to side,
with no support and (you know) we populate our
otherwise empty dreams with the smoke
and refuse, the touch
and contact missing in a flaming kick and stomp of re-entry.
10 minutes until 4/27/2000, EST
This was the result of a nodeshell challenge by so-and-so | 
