I wish I could draw its beauty, waves of wild sweet peas in shadow, a cull de sac.
Champion, river boat, rope-a-dope, beehive, swirl stacks like spaghetti, round and round, purple flowers like baby ear lobes or female flags, genital and decorative.
The top half of the horizon glows neon with lime green dawn. Pure the bright potential. Complex the future, color hidden, planets invisible, mercury, spectrum of light displayed. Electric Miss America, the top of my head tingles, conduit, foxy Lady.
The crows make a distant dribble running at the mouth, like an early cock crowing half hearted, x rated. No bravado, no malice, just canyon airplay. Musical din of soft tweeting, rhythmic, cooing, like a grand jewelry box engine. The sky becomes powder blue.