balanchesko

The morning always smells like what you remember in your head
When you see a picture and associate the smell.
Thunderbirds flapping enormous wings
8,000 lightning strikes in just one hour
Somewhere out in the Pacific underneath a sky of constellations
Which I know as only two dimensional renderings
Here in the radio graveyard hours of the west,
Where I keep seeing the Ghost birds and revisiting my past.