Friday, April 26, 2019

What I find in dreams
I cannot keep.
Awake on layers
patchworked into sleep
the damp dawn cries
to the damp night.
Brightness kept and cut
and advertised continues
tracing a waterfall
the tire marks of flights
already departed.
Clouds hacked by
the flatulence of small gods
grass fondling the various impacts.
Running water circles in hollow blades
the sinews of darkened speech.
Bones tinkling like pencil lead
on a brass expanse.
Vines handling the center
of a singing hammer.
Rooms falling through
a castle of cartoon panels.
Glass letters that bisect the sun.

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