A Dreary Dream: A Poem

I think I see you. In a frozen shard of a thousand pieces of broken glass. If I pick it up there’s a change the trance will remark you’re really here. What a liar time is when it folds on itself, an accordion linking then to now. I’ll look down at the deepening wound, what? Happened.

So I catch my breath, unfan the fold, and breathe. The flickering image of undermush that once protruded is now a whitened scar. It’s a rubber band snapping that both are true. Me and you. The basement apartment in my psyche is now an abandoned stalactite-filled cave.

But I can’t help but think of you sleeping on the floor of that furniture-less apartment. Of the you stitched together that I naively believed in too. A Walt Disney dream that failed to fill in reality. Like the 50-year-old woman who was slowly being poisoned by the implants of her breasts.

As much of a dream I know it was, my all-night rendezvous seemed true. Sitting in a living room in a tremendous house with garbage bay-sized windows overlooking a rainforest waterfall and evergreen old growths felt natural, like I’d been her best friend. Sitting with an A-list celebrity felt normal. I pitied them. Their complaints about their upcoming work felt like a gnat, but so did their lack of purpose. A life outside the parameters of money seemed to add to their agitation and listlessness. I felt grateful for my problems; no part of me desired what they had.

A branding, like the hot iron to a cow’s rear end, declares a “Be careful what you wish for.” Be cautious not to overinflate and overindulge. It’s not better there than here. It’s an experience, it’s something to do. The future is yet to be written.

Love, Me