what is there to cling, clinging to the woven threads
in my nightmarish dreams, those dreams scattered
into the rosebushes and gushing ponds
they are set ablaze, and not even the scent can mask
the terrifying gaze, and the pond ices over
so that knuckles crackle where water stood before
so I set down in a downward spiral, into a massive hole
set under the ***** of my feet, I cling onto the fabrics
of this nightmarish dream, hoping that its reality
can unfold before, I say, before the ground gives away
and I'm ****** into this bottomless pit
Then with a shout I scramble, hair flying like double
shiny and marvelous, flowing and luscious
so that each glint from the fiery gaze sets wonder
and my knees rattle like the most terrifying thunder
yet into the inexplicable yonder, they propel me with
their creaking joints, like gravel's laughter
and with that laughter my feet find ground
and with that laughter light erupts with a dash
crackling and sizzling, beaming and booming
across the oily black sky of my nightmarish dream
yet here, this light was of a marvelous light
like the gush of courage and a momentous dosage
pushing and pulling of the sweetest melody
in my own vast, vast night sky

fear not to lose sight
of the stronghold
on that hill crested green,
how are we ever supposed
to know what the
hell to do

shoulders hunched over
metal tables, where hips ache
and meet the bite of the edge,
where the eye lay so intent
on forward, chanced upon
another reality, another fantasy
other than the glum-white walls,
corners like imprisonments,
here, with elbows touching the cold metal
and pencil flying away,
the notes singing and meddling,
arching over where bridges lay unfathomed
to tales of fantastical beasts and claps of thunder,
of whimsical laughter catering above an ill-fitted tower,
of diving through scouring deserts, blistered heels
and parched lips as two and two hold onto one another
of tragic heroines and mystical vessels of evil,
here, as the kindling of imagination unfolds
cling onto it, I say

a fleeting stark night, pasted colors and
brittle nosies cascading off the cobblestone streets
a beautiful awning where rain jewels
and warm, yellow ochre glow blossoms
from the store window, the puddles swirl
in their gleeful song, and the city
escalates to a breathing, clattering, makeshift
of mankind

there upon a skip, upon ancient stone
and the rhythm of clicking heels,
abruptly whisked with the shout of walkers,
there, upon an awning night
of brisk rain air and pasted colors
there, next to the shop window
with the raindrops shining like bejeweled webs
a chance meeting, nervous eyes waning
like a long note on a violin,
cheeks flushed and lips lush
a chance meeting
where two
may begin

this beloved nineteen year old
on the brink of ages deemed as greater
oh, how the fear sometimes
tangle her hands and feet
so she's sometimes left
only to ponder in her net,
reminiscing of past days,
childhood days as sweet
as the green summer hills
and nights at rickety hold tables
where the meals smell
like that of home