Dreams peeled upwards like planted weeds
Grasping to touch a saffron sky
Straining under lasting languish

These dreams, it seems, awaken to the day,
To repulsion of repetitive repetition of tarred thoughts of
Repelling miles away from you
You who, although now, curl inward towards one another
-another moment of
disillusionment, thriving on salted skin

Bruised spaces
Break the backs of arching bridges:
it seems, these dreams of parking lot birds fly never over, never above.

Waken to the sound of drilling teeth
Awaken from an anesthesia slumber
Shaken senses of novocaine

Every morning
undresses and dresses the hum of
Slumbered thoughts,
Who murmur of arising amber sun