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
where time has no significance.

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,

or

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.