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.