When I once said enough with reality

sleep showed me a dream where

an aeroplane had you for supper

and a glass window tried to soothe my weeping,

rather embarrassed at the scene I was making.



I had an Amazon and a Nile

running down my cheeks and all the way home.

Still, on the day before the day after the sixth

I made plans but I recalled that you were busy

so I took Lonesomeness to a flick and

her little friend insanity tagged along.

All day they jabbered and filled my sore brain

with syringes that sucked out whatever was left in there

and I went home to unravel all the love songs from

their little cassette prisons

and braid them together.



So I walked to the end of a road

who lives three miles away where I got

chased by every word that ever tripped off your lips

and slow-danced with every move

your body ever made.



Sadly, reluctantly, Old Sleep moved aside

and I peeked in a window and stared at me.

And the table was holding a letter from someone

who looked like you, and someone who cried like me

was making the Mississippi

and her tributaries on my pillow.