I am a carpenter, a dramatist, and a director,
And there’s little that all those skills are all good for,
But if you piece and you play and you pray,
They stick together just well enough to stay,
And you’ve hammered and scripted together
One little dream that’ll last forever.

A good dreamwright is hard to come by,
The kind that builds dreams that don’t die.
It’s a shame there’s so few of us
When dreams are needed in abundance.
Someone needs to make them from scratch
Oil the hinges and make sure wheels attach.

Some of us are good, some of us are bad
But we’re responsible for every dream you ever had:
The nightmares, the adventures, the vivid fantasies,
That play on your deepest desires and anxieties.
We are the ones that make sleeping souls laugh,
For this our artform and dreams our craft.

Melting, dripping with time passing,
Wick still clashing.
Ashen, waxen,
Flame un-passion.

Holding candleholder handles,
Snuffing candles,
Watch smoke-shadows
Dance to who-knows.

Out! Out! like the light that it is,
But witness yet
Grey pirouette's
Dark banishment.

She is a peach
Delightful and succulent
She is mine

In my town
    The streets are paved
         With gold
              Because the rain
            Runs an infinitely unfinished race
        And the streets
   Are run thick with sky
       That swills above blocked drains
            And the street lamps
               Take a bathe in the puddles
                  And their lights
                       Unravel and swim
                     And sometimes
                  The wind gusts through
              And lacerates the
           Rivers of hoarded treasure
       So that our good fortune
           Is molten and fickle
             But somehow viscous
                  And the promises
                        Of our childhood
                            Wrinkle like
                               Aging skin

In my town
       The streets are paved with gold
           And so are the broken pieces
   Of their beer bottles.