gone are the days of laying
with my head resting on the pillow
as thoughts evaporate with the ease
of turning the faucet to wash
away the lingering toothpaste
from the porcelain sink.

here are the days of dreaming
of past wishes for the new is too complicated
like the attempts to but together the new
desk with instructions in chinese as
two-hundred pieces are scattered on the floor;
like the nightmares that crawl into the ear
with the vehemence charge, seeping
into the desires with the black gelatin
infecting, with the cinching way of
mold spreading vastly to the too ripe
fruit sitting in the corner of the refrigerator,
forgotten.