on a skillet of half-done dreams
and this only gets us as far as
sleep again tonight, especially
after the other night, when it
only got us as far as sleep before.
There is a dance I want to teach
you that goes so badly into the
depths of you it is like the monsters
you knew lived under your bed;
it's the kind of fear that plumbs the
depths of whatever is in your head
like dreams and stories while we're
half-awake and falling back into our
bodies and out of the state
of pure being. I suppose there is a
final way we could organize each
other, that might complete the
understanding and leave us to go
out and have happy finalized lives
but we cling, and I cling and cling
and live out a fantasy while I still
may, while it is still May, and the
sun is shining and October won't
bend it's dead-leaf hand to bother
the windy happiness of two people
in a constant state of emotion.
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