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Surrendering myself to dreams
is easy,
like slipping into old silhouettes.
For in this unbearable world,
every breath
burns like a small death
within this heavy suit
of skin and sound.

there’s a place whose sweet fog
creates shadows
from all my primordial ties
to those things that suffocate:
lists and lusts and loss
(yearnings that keeps on feasting).

I shall watch as my dreams expand,
bursting through their high cage
and engulfing this nest of a room,
this popsicle stick city.

Watch- a flood
dissolving hardness,
all its pressing heat and gnawing voices;
dissolving hollowed out memories
that exist only to take up space;
dissolving marbled eyes,
smoldering, unappreciated brains;
dissolving sidewalks pressed apart like dried playdough
folded tight against tired tree roots;
dissolving unending lines of people waiting
for something they’ve long since forgotten;
dissolving empty restaurants and
tear-stained notes resting in corners of alleyways;
dissolving relentless clocks,
hypnotizing artificial blue light,
clogged up hairbrushes,
unread books, unfinished paintings,
perpetually soiled towels,
TV screens brimming with faces
gleaming vainly like fallen suns,
windowless churches, ghostless graveyards,
and the sighing fade of museums
built from centuries of
history and hurt-

all dissolved like salt
in dreams upon dreams
(with me).


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