the dreams
float down to me
gently fluttering in the
wind, they land safely on my forehead
and like
postcards from a
place i thought i'd forgot
remind me what i have lost
and i
vaguely recall
your feet naked in the
park's sweet grasses playing like a
young child with each blade of green
i could
truly say that i
was quite content with you
there not thinking about future
days or long past summer loves
but as
if from a slap
i do recoil from such
dreams in which i am so happy
and so braindead in order
to think
clearly again
i sprawl across the bed
-room floor in that familiar place
of tears and angst to cogitate
but to
tell you the truth
i rather envy the fool
who relies upon his spinal chord and
forgot about tomorrow