a million little miracles
standing in a line
laughing at the little man
who chooses not one time.

crowded, there.
elbows and hellos and farewells.
dream
after
           dream
after dream
withering
decaying in a flash of images
of people that will never be
and chances that will never be
taken.
encounters
that will never
                                  occur.

again, a new dream
stands up to take his place.
his place,
and the air rushes in
to fill the gap
where the old dream is no longer,
and the new dream has yet to be.
the air rushes in,
closes in,
fills it all in
and when the disappearing dream
declines all else but its own
                         decay
it blinks.
vanishing into a single point of
                            light
                                   a frozen face
                                                a
                                         fractured
                                                 (smile)
a piece of god
                       of self
                                    of soul
and when it
blinks
it winks
it darks
               and it is gone.
the dream is
                                                                                              worse than dead.
                                               the dream is
            worse than gone.
                                             it simply never was.
it simply                                                                                            never was.

the air rushes in
again
always filling in
and the new dream swells with pride.

i
am the dream
that will make
the miracles
and save this man
from the self he
secretly serves.

the new dream opens its eyes.

the air
          rushes
                       out,
                              grows thin,
                             breath becoming ragged
before it has even begun.
eyes tear.
drip and run and **** sadness
and water and cloud
at the heat
left behind
in the wake of the evaporating atmosphere.

refusing to gasp or swat at tears,
the dream stands straight and tall.
i
am the dream
that will make
the miracles
and save this    
man
from the              
self  
he secretly serves.

one moment of attention
a second’s worth of will
and the air would be endless and free.
the dream would be endless and free.

before blinking
the first
(and only)
time,
the newborn eyes
                                                                         swollen, itching
                                                                                                eyes
grow wide in unfeigned horror.

dream after dream
from the footprint under his shoe
to the ****** horizon
of crimson and death and loss
stood screaming.
                           dream after dream after dream
                                        standing and screaming and
weeping
clamoring to be heard.
a cacophony
                                                               so loud
                                                    
                                                     so very ******* loud

his newborn crusting eyes
saw the sound
through the red tint
of sorrow
and loss, the tint
that in mere moments
had become
the only vision he would ever know.
saw the sound
he
saw the sound
so loud
               the fragile air
pulsed and scattered, convulsing.
the sound so loud, he saw it
before the sensation
                                of hearing
                                                  occurred.
before hearing
before blinking
but weeping, always,
                                                                                                  weeping . . .
he saw the screams of all the dreams
through eyes that leaked decay.

                                                       one instant.

one flashbulb spark
second in time
to give this dream
(any dream
any of these dreams
any ******* dream at all)
breath.

one second to pause
to give
one thought
to give
one chance
to give one breath.
to give. to give.

and the air would be endless and free.
the air and the dream,
both endless,
and free.

                                                    i am the dream
he chokes,
                                                                                              his eyes burn and
                                                                                                              weep,
                                                                                               itch and weep
                                               that will make this man
                                                                                                            he cries,
ears ringing
forsaken dreams
******* screaming
crimson and ****** and loud
                                                 save the miracles
                                                 he secretly serves
he shrieks,
                                                                                                 hands clenching
                                                                                                  into futile fists,
                                                  &