You are a grey guitar
wailing
a sandstorm
adding the grit to my teeth
a white pearl necklace
falling over a lady's bare chest
A lonely birthday
where no one calls but the deskman

I asked you
                  so I knew.

I turned you
from a cherry sweet Sunday
                                                 to this.
Look!
What have you done to my pleasant canyon dream?
I woke, and snoozed the alarm four times this morning.
Each time,
last night was still there
boring into me
a metal casket
                         creaking open and then
                                  finally
                  ­                            CRASH
                               ­                             closing shut.