I can't close my eyes
tears gather.
I can't breathe
the air is stuck.
I can't gulp
my throat is tight.

I try to plant my dream,
but land is
barren

Still, I try.
Even my conscience
mocks me.

As nightmares subside
at dawn, your eyes
reflect the fear and the
pain.
They spill a desire to try.

Please try.

You can walk in the
rain without an umbrella
and let the clover and
honeysuckle guide you
to safety.
Evict the chaos from
your thoughts, and
leave the incubus behind.

We talk about the
past like it's a
movie we
watched together.
You liked the
cinematography.
I didn't care for the
cruelty of the
protagonist.

We disagree on the
theme, and every
scene holds different
aspects of
symbolism for us.
I'm not sure I want
there to be a sequel,
despite the good
acting.

On the backs of
flies
we wait for the
next thing.
Something is
always coming.
A birth or death,
food or hunger
hatred
laughter
love...

Something is always
coming around the
corner.
The Mad Hatter with
mushroom tea.
A strange color of
blue that tastes like
almonds.
A ****** that sparkles
in the night.

Listless mornings
of languid
walks with the
wife in the cool
of the evening.

A knife in the back,
a shark attack,
or maybe, just
possibly, you write
a poem about
waiting for the
next thing.

A flickering street lamp
Fedora and a black thin tie

that's all I get in my
dreams

an occasional shot glass
filled with perfect cubes

and a splash of something
dark to drink

maybe