cold wash cycle

I wince
peer through the dust
searchingly. there is a world and it is bright.
 paint by numbers
and plastic razors
 turning to dust for
my eyes
to peer through
my eyes to dust for eyes to despise
the futureur's eyes
they hope to find a hip glare
a fresh razor of cruelty a new whipping hue
something to make hatred funny
will they cry for their oblivion
like I'm doing now
there's no purpose no blocks shaven to fit snugly
no answer
no finding the cozy nook that fate clutches in it's breast
 swaying left to right and left
rocking up to her toes and back on heels back up on toes
glancing over at the sea
her bangs blow over face
turns at the neck back to the treeline
shoulders then back at the sea.
she is dust. skiddering fast and far
epilepticly wobbling over holes in the ruin
she seems so lovely
dust is dreaming and she is the dream
and she never dies
she holds the treasure tight
wants to step gently down the sand
and keep her feet with the floor
I'm watching from 10 meters
I have to go with her. I love her more tonight
 than i've loved anything
and finally peace billows up in warm arms
a new hue