*Our Dreams.

I had a dream that, a dream that you couldn't half-aware make right.
She's just always there.
She's there in the moorish boathouse, in my dream--and up against the wood and bubbled-glass paned door I rubbed the place I'm sure you had. Any of the behind-places that are soft. Any of the places you hold when we sleep. And this dream you see, it gets so tangled, it gets so mangled. And it tries and tries, and she tries and tries, to rip open my heart again to where it was when I loved a building. Merely a building.
And I swirl downward w/ colors on my own hands.
And I swirl downward, farther into the elevator of memories that are beginning to delicately, to distantly, to grey-mist roll and suffocate me...and fade from me...

And then you fall in your own sleep and I wake.
And it's just a dream.
\\\\\It's just one of the little fragments that form together to make what I call sleep.
And I think I don't know how to live,
when there's so much now to lose.
\\ Was any of it really lived?...the gulp,gulp, way that I once drank up one single lamplight.
Oh, this waking, waLking,
talking, holding, - stand still and see the city lights - moving, moving, just keep moving Life.


And it's just merely the smallest little pebble in the beginning.
It's just merely the very first irreversible steps taken to reach......what?
The fame(?),
the fame
of the blame
of making something that people breathe in, drink in, gulp down....in the same way in which you wanted it to actually all be.
And what if, what if - it really all just comes together, and they all, we all just get the things we dreamed of in INCENSE SUMMER NIGHTS, and drops of SNOW ON THE BRICK steps, and BUCKETS OF RAIN ON THE KITCHEN FLOOR and the street cement below my head.....and we all laugh together somewhere come together, at a table all of us sit lit by the warmest golden candlelight, and somewhere in the place there are amber reds and cool blues, and the porcelain white plates are filled high with half-eaten meals, and the glasses keep emptying, and there are a million back-stories to each, to any two of the group you could pick....[Two of them are toasting drinks mixed of stolen slurps from everyone else's glasses-reaching high into the rafters of the place for the next epic night to really get going..and next to them one of them is sitting too much higher than the rest with her hair and raised-to-lips fingernails in a mock-coyish attempt...beside her a friend leans one shoulder against her-as she wraps arm and leg around her curly-haired man-so sweetly wrapped around one another......and then down the line......a boy and a girl are girlishly whispering things-each smoking away from the other-fully immersed in noiseless talk, and then one of them is gallantly putting on hilarious stand-up bits-hopping up, and down, and up, from his seat with each hair flick.......and beside him is the only truly modest one-beautifully speaking with anyone near...and at the end--one of them is chuckling in the most Herculean of ways, and daring the symposium to go on......and then around......and one of them still keeps tapping his big sneakers against the floor-resting a cigarette between each side of himself......one of them is so painfully handsome that he every once in awhile checks himself, looks down, as if forgotten-and no one notices-then grins so, so very wide at each raised slurp toast......and one of them is building great meals with her hands-to the groans of the always-hungry ones--in a lavish English Tea fable........then, well then one of them smells of lake wind as he twiddles his knuckles-and is watching all of them in such a way that he'd never believe they'd let him be just who he is], and they are all laughing and smiling to each other, and they are all so brilliant....and they are all so good and so great and so sad and so beautiful, and they all got what they wanted most, with such different families now, in such various places that they'll all go back to afterwards....and I see them as I'm walking in the heavy glass door from the street and my flight, shaking off the snow from a heavy black coat....and I see all of them together, lost together again. And the last one looks up and smiles his snail grin at me. And I sigh, and smile finally again-in that way you only can then.
And I walk over and sit down again.


And I wake up.





Daily headphones: Ray LaMontagne's "Hold you in my Arms", GooGoo Dolls "Black Balloon" and Springstein's "I'm on Fire"