i have a little dream
of you in the moonlight
my fingertip tracing
poems upon your back
words limned in luminance
braiding foxgloves into your hair

it’s just an idea,
it’s all just ideals:
ideal you...moonlight, skin, words
a little dream of “could be”
prickled with starlight
tinged with a berry scent
a tangled glow

I stay drunk on dreams,
I stay inflamed on dreams,
my ear pressed to the walls of the worlds
listening to the whispers from the universe next door.

don’t force me sober.
reality tastes like concrete.

spent some time
talking about my absence.
some time discussing
the theatr, oft unwillingly,
while dining.

our lack of chairs,
rubber backed blankets,
and whether to sit on walls.

there is another performance
going on.

it is not at the theatr,
this time.

sbm.

. coat hanger .
google brings strange memories.
my friends talk of the coat hanger
effect. hanging our wares on each others’
shoulders, bearing us all down with the weight.

share it out they say, with friends and family,
loose and flowing, mind your engine does
not pink, we must have finer fuel. not feeling

our true self can be an infliction, the grave digger
reminds us of our years, our sense of humour.

we stare at icons, hoper for a better price,
i went to the theatr the other day

sbm.