Yeah, the dreams keep coming.
Like Florida rain, Denver snow.
Falling, drifting, cascading down
my back–like fingers, like knees,
like the sound their friction breeds.
“But they’re just dreams.”
and you’re just nuclei
spinning dizzy in your cells.
Yeah, so, dreams.
of snakes. of trees. of
falling. of white robes
and long over-due apologies.
There is a cave somewhere,
lit floor to ceiling with phosphorescent
spiders, where we’re all naked,
laughing at the silliness of our
parts.
Like classroom pant-less
cheeks, red as topless
high-school cheeks.
“But they’re just dreams.”
and you’re just bits of cosmic
dust, held together by your own thoughts.
Yeah, so, dreams.
of dragons. of fire. of
orgies. of bullet wounds
and long over-due absolution.
There is a forest somewhere,
dark as Spanish past,
where we’re all hiding,
gasping at the shadows
of our minds.
Like lungs of lovers met,
loud as eyes long
since met.
“But they’re just dreams.”
and you’re just neurons, sparking
fires in glob of meat.
So, yeah. The dreams keep coming.
Like L.A. earthquakes,
Seattle storms. Dancing, singing,
a rising crescendo like guttural laughs,
enraptured screams, like the ecstasy
their being breeds.
And yes, they’re just dreams…
and we’re just monkeys half-asleep.
