on being disappointed by the dream

I must ask, are you

writing the movie or

are you locked

          in the chamber of the perpetual nap

          where habit precludes

                    breaking the hacks that prevent the reins-free ride

                    on the blossoming thermals of the day


so inviting – so inspiring – so chock full

               of nutrition they could feed a civilization

               were their ears not wadded with butter

                         and dead verbs

                         scraped from the eyes

                         of mangled messengers


so, breathing – so, believing – so much

potential to be redeemed

               in prescient couplets

               in the disquiet of unbroken

                         horses bottled and corked

                         with electricity

and sharp jolts in the hips and loins

               in vibrations

               that rattle the lips

                              where teeth meet tongue

                              to celebrate the overture

with prophetic fanfares

and the closing credits with liberating sobs

               and dustings of salt

                         from where the world

                                   can’t hear them

What are you looking for?