everyone else’s dreams are boring (20180110)

so

in the dream you have
eyes made of full moons
and glossy lips

in daylight
and under fluorescents
your skin wrinkles where
youth has flattened out
on a face already carved
into planes and
where the skin has stretched
from too much
self-imposed forced smiling

half-lidded
you lean forward
–the kiss clumsy–
though your mouth looks wet
i feel every line
every dry crack
in your lips
they compress against my own
the softness gone
like air from a deflated balloon

the dream doesn’t let
me taste you
dream-me thinks
ah, you are getting older

——

hat tip to C of Optional Poetry, and this poem in particular

the illusion of memory (20170614)

what is this place–
some kind of dorm
prep school, college?

filled with debris of an old life
this place is unfamiliar in ways that
reveal the lie
of the illusion of memory

here, a set of tibetan prayer flags
piles of books without titles
and so many toys
all things i have never
specifically handled
touched or
loved

the room buzzes with people
a handful of them long dead
every one interested
in helping me clean
scavenging things they want
from my old life
in a rush to get this room ready
for the next inhabitant
dragging objects packed or not
down concrete stairs
to where a moving truck
already stuffed full
awaits

shoppers draw near the scene
–a cosmic garage sale–
offering money
or just taking what they want

impossibly in the room
and on the ground
at the same time
the more i pack the more i discover
items still unclaimed
a box full of glass eyes
coins from foreign lands
an old handheld game

i should feel some kind
of attachment
yet only the dead give me pause

an overwhelming sense
of futility mixed with exhaustion
washes over me

i peel back carpet
and find a rotted wood floor
i have never seen

light on, light off (20161231)

in the dream, we drive
the radio buzzes
we must be in europe
because you are at the wheel
and you are on my right

you laugh
your smile burns
blindness inducing white
an atomic bomb going off
each time you open your mouth

like a fridge
the door opens
the light comes on
the door closes
the light goes off
inside, when it works,
when it does its job,
it is dark
it is cold
all movement ceases
everything is preserved
especially the rot

grounded dreams (20160621)

i don’t know the meaning
of dreams anymore.
i raise my hands but there is no
parting of the clouds.

i tried automatic writing
once. i let the other
take over. scribbles and cries–
i don’t know. the meaning

may be buried under the ground
struggling, but ready to bloom.
or is it just the decay
of dreams? anymore,

i find that it doesn’t matter.
i don’t need to understand
how the automatic door works.
i pretend to use the force.
i raise my hands.

it obeys, and opens.
i find that there are still
surprises left to be surprised by,
and maybe one more
parting of the clouds.

——

for
the secret keeper
Weekly Writing Prompt #42
MEANING | RAISE | CRY | DREAM | GROUND

blank line (20160530)

your hand is covered in dream
wet protein
all a body needs
running down
your finger
to the curve of your wrist

i dream of tracing that line
with my tongue
licking it salty clean
but you’re already
washing clean
of the whole affair

on the blank line sign your name
trace over the letters
written before
with your hand

——

for
The Daily Post
Daily Prompt: Blank

dream of the black horse (20160523)

–there were horses in the dream
what does that mean?

-what color were they?

–black horses, riding through
a grave yard

-i think you should be more
worried about the cemetery
than the horses

–seriously, what do they mean?

-horses are about power and passion
dark horses sometimes are about
dark passions, things you shouldn’t
want

–why a cemetery?

-something coming to an end
or your deviant passions
causing an ending

–you are so full of shit

-it’s not my dream

——

The Daily Post
Daily Prompt: Dream

Lyrics 20150330

Is this a dream that’s spinning,
Twisting, running through my head?
A dream of you where I can’t make out
Anything you’ve said?

I follow you from room to room
Through silent moonlit halls,
Out one final courtyard door
Where rain just falls and falls.

I look across the garden
And see you standing in the weeds
Water rushes down between our legs
As if we both were reeds

Bent beneath the shower’s weight,
Buoyed by the stream.
Your mouth is moving silently
In this dream within a dream.

I reach out to take you
And hold you to my chest
And press you up against my skin
Until there’s nothing of you left.

I feel you pounding in my ribs
And throbbing in my blood.
I hear you singing in my ears at last
As I surrender to the flood.

Poem 20150304

you’ve done something to your hair
i think
it’s still as long
but styled in waves
that make me think of
ribbons more than beaches
and a spot of color
varied gold and brown
with black spots
the coloring of a hawk
you pass by
dressed for business
and barely have time
to give me a smile
and hint of your perfume
but it is enough

Poem 20150131

she crawls on top of me
her skirt sliding up over
her thighs
bare knees pressed
against my hips
i can feel her heat
through my jeans
she leans down
her hair brushes
against my face
and she whispers
bearing down on me
like a fire
like the sun
her mouth against my ear
she whispers
“it’s okay if we do this”
and she presses down against me
and I slide my hands up her back
and find her skin
and her breath is fire