Poem

When I think of what people do
in the summer they get away from me.
If you can sleep in a chair then
you are ready to drive across America.
Look at all the delightful things
that have silver in them. I would like
the sun to cast some light on me
that perfectly conforms to my body.
Just cascading beams of light all
over me. And then I would bump
into something real and know
I'm here. Everybody leaves.
I get the picture and the picture
is solid, will break in two.