Teen Ink

   The needless knob on the stereo,

The weighty flight of mid-morning essence

borne down by the discords and dissonances of confused morals.

Like a hollow drum, the midnight streets

the lonely telephone pole talking to the faint sirens,

the midnight air, the cool breeze, the lonely lightpost.

As though predestined by a dream to become something,truth perhaps,

nothing moved except

You, me.

Nothing coughed except you, me.

And we coughed lavishly...

because it would be a long time until tomorrow.

When you, me, we would awaken to the solid drum of "reality's" alarm clock

and we: you, me,

would call each other while daylight crept inward light like water, and say

(dial 555-6839)

"I had the funniest dream tonight" And we would say it at the same time,

disbelieving nothing.