I need a pickmeup.

Not of the effervescent bottle.

Nothing inheritable.

I've ingested too much already.

When I was a child, I planted the apex of my nose on our car's backseat window. Peering, I wasted eyesight--instead, my mind strove to achieve greatness. Downside Hill was the name of the band that I imagined would tear up each subsequent coast with an eagerness to please its fans while staying true to its nature. I saw birds. There were cars stranded on burning asphalt. But I dreamt past them.

In a blur of December ragweed.

I found that somehow and then lost it. But did I ever dream up newness? Did I find a new apparel?

I now see birds that float effortlessly above the the current and sing to the wind without the movement of a single feather while basking in the weather it is given while I lay on my back on my burning asphalt. I'd like that.