That Morning Was Some Clementine Dream

Today, it was the street light's turn to walk the dogs.

I woke up feeling like a cup of coffee without the creamer
bitter and dark and choking again
with some hospital camera taking pictures
of new born ashes.

Another piano was being thrown into the sea
torn apart by the seams of an orchestra
as I went by to buy some violin strings.
My hands were talentless inside my pocket,
fidgeting for a plastic bow to waste my time on
I found none, and the clouds started pouring one by one
unto my shoulders, both of them sad to find
that the umbrella they so long loved
was left at home.

Each drop dripped on my coat before they joined the groundwaters,
and it was cold, colder than those absent days
When the sun would simply fail to get up
and burn his bed in his oversleep
Colder than those times when a lover's heart
would dance alone in the eye lights
to the tune of a Bach or Beethoven symphony.

And it was in her eyes that lights crawl like lovecats.
--but that's a different story.--

Today, I thought I'd find some pieces of thread
And swing them around the sandman so that I could sleep
like what the sun does whenever it's cold.
But he never got around
And there were absolutely no strings.

So I sat alone and passed the day dreaming of things that could not be undone.



It was about midnight when the street light came back
with the dogs on their leashes, all of them tied to his arm

And I thought, and thought.

If I'm lucky, then maybe tomorrow, I'll get to walk them.
And maybe, if I'm really lucky

I won't ever need to return.