The stars like night,
But no land to sit on.
A floating coffee,
Electrification of consciousness.
Suddenly a barstool to sit on –
Shooting stars,
A chair,
A room, drifting calmly.
In it, a couch and a wall hanging
George Jetson buzzes by.
A sneer at the pollution.
Another sip of the coffee.
Now rainbows of stripgum come rolling
A motorcar rolls along it and towards…
But just missed and putters past along.
This time no sneer, but
A shake of the head as if to say “Oh what ignorance.”
Another drink of the coffee,
And a drift.
The stars illuminate the surrounding air
As nothing else can be seen.
The rainbow’s left,
It followed the car on its way out
Of the galaxial realm,
The room has also floated away.
Now a bar is floating in the right direction –
Hopefully a refill can be procured…