I once had a therapist who said dreams mean nothing – just nocturnal synaptic activity as our brain filters and sorts our waking activity.
I wake to see the chrysalis transluce
pray… that what I set free is worth more than what he leaves behind.
I look at your eyes / and forget they have color.
Equinox / our remaining hope / before / Darker / Interrupts / Dark
We Have No Choice But To Comply.
– models of masculinity –
To me it was Their transaction: / A payment / Or collection / Now, literally Everything is given away.
And while I knew well it would not be a dream / I expected a little less grinding of gears.
I can code-switch with the best of them.
Let my palate adjust / To the heat / And the sweet,
I write alone, in verse or prose / Enjoy it, if you predispose.
No matter the Framing, the Mat, or the Pane / The Whole of The Story it shall not contain.
We are all creatures / of habit, acting / as we always do.
Even with functioning eyes / Seeing can never be forced.
Loneliness is not / Truancy of Them; / ‘Tis the Roar of Self
Moist is for cake. Only. Ever.
I’ve checked the flights from here to there, / And there to here, of course (of course!) / I’m sighing, and my Soul’s laid bare.
Just / Air
My morning’s skies of blue soon turned to gray / The moment’s respite gone in sheets of rain