Life, you're a broad enough word to

address this mere question:

why have you dreamt me so?

A wide-eyed clod outdone by a wider

grin, won't you tell?

You who'll dream the bones of me,

let on...spill the beans to your baby

boy.

I'm in fine condition to smooth the

flap of that dog-eared day-dream.

There's nothing I could offer you, is

there, a butterfly perhaps?

Aren't you the least tickled by the sly

prods of these questions, desirous as

they are...I suspect they beget more

dreams of me, best to shut up now.

Having spake pishposh to

naked trees, booming baritone,

what once shrunk with cold

began to unscrew.

Lacquered limbs from hyperextensions

of daylight, a sensuous twiddle

caught fingers, they began combing

a tongue for hair.

Slipping the ***** of its unpronounceable

fever, Mount Parnassus pitched

heights, as an uncanny greenery loosed

the lips of poetry.

All having come from

an undressed wound,

whose fully enveloped

bloom knows the ****** tug

of the moon.

We her mad children, pulled

from the trauma unit of

creation...spend a lifetime

trying to stay with what's in

front of us.

Times's blackout trifecta...

whose lapsing present seems

to always beg: stay with me!

Eating alphabet soup--

with mind-bent spoons...

goosing bumps piggyback,

skinny dipping.

Spectatorship's: know thy shelf.

Ill-placed.

Scarlet letter bib, cold-footed

baby steps...vomitous nerves,

stage fright.

Pregnant pauses--flaccid

deflation, upon a falsely infirm

plane.

Dubbed drainingly impassioned,

by peer rear-views.

Shadower of the valley, dying of wisdom--

strung along since seven holes played

the Charmer's flute.

The licentiousness of your poetry, makes

days of worship drag along, inspiring

idleness in all its wickedness.

Leveler of leagues, unlikely elbows falling

together in deeds.

You freeze a whorled dance in the hollowed

trunk of a tree, to wait out the world you

impel.

Forever retiring to the terrible weight of its

foundation, having had the gall to drink its

basest, bitterest secretion.

Poison by any, and no other name...quenchless

blows by the scepter of you in deserted time.

As the truth be hidden in plain sight, so they

to you for salvation.

Childless park swings pushed by

momma & pappa air,

spray painted t rex teeth

on higher high-rises, blight force glyphs.

Huckleberry over my

persimmon (a bit beyond my abilities)...

to delete prey from jaws, though a

smooth dancer in shape-shifting

crowds, electric **** crow, tinted eyes.

A day in the life...clammy handfuls of

posies, unwrinkling dead presidents.

Sweeping odds in charnel stacks,

knot-haired incense t ***** by rush hour

trains, wolf that warped whiff...