Falling asleep,
we're lost at sea,
                each
        swell of the surface
is a pull from the deep,

every second threatened
by a silence waiting
to claim the music
        that lingers
            in shivering
                vibrations…

                    …light
plays games with sound-waves;
        a spiderweb
            stretches
                across darkness
as we segue into dreams.

For hours we remain there
        but time
has no significance
        where we are.

In the morning, when the mind emerges
        – a butterfly crawling
            from its chrysalis,
                given the gift
                    of one day to live –
you will tell me your dreams.

They are sometimes mundane,
but often they are strange
        & beautiful:

a flock of birds somehow derail the train
taking you to an unknown destination,
but you escape from disaster
by leaping out of a window
        & land softly
            in a meadow
                of wildflowers.

I don't speak about my dreams.

I don't speak about disturbing scenes of
eating glass
as a crowd attacks &
tears the flesh from my bones
            with their hands;

a desert that doesn’t grow, but
moves slowly forward
with the eerie movement of mist…

Last night,
            I had a dream,
that poetry still mattered &
you presented me
            with lilacs as
                behind you
the crowd demanded answers, but
we calmed them with elegant words.

Then I awoke,
smoked four cigarettes,
showered
shit
dressed & went
to work.