Waking Life seems so surreal.

It’s as though I’m in a trance and the sun kissed California sky is instead pallor.

My eyes, wide open swallowing untold images







- the starlit sky crowning a hallow terrain against the backdrop of misty mountains.

But this beauty won’t reveal itself to me.

I am devoured by shades of gray.



Yet in Dreams, I cross the threshold Fantastic into Klimt paintings.

Where lovers embrace under blankets stitched in cosmos and

I have to brace my eyes to adapt to waves of gold hues far greater than Apollo himself.

And in these dreams, I find myself diving into pools of indigo as grand as oceans.

You’re there as well, a perpetual presence following my actions detached.

You watch from afar, but at least your watching.



Sometimes, when under a cloak of sweet deception,

I can smell your aura as you hold me close eclipsing the other beauties.

Leaving me full of your warmth and free of distraction.

So close that I extract a bit of your essence and mold it into stars so vibrant in their radiance,

That you ask: Have they mistaken us for their gods?

And I would tell you: Yes, but let’s enjoy the satisfaction of divinity for a while.



When I wake, I curse the ridiculousness of it all.

The world is dry and gray. I dip my feet in water only to be dragged out by the current.

My arms reaching towards the heavens as I sink, drowning in the bitterness of lost dreams and broken souls.

But why am I left with this lingering hope?

A rose colored satin draped across my lips, sweet residue of fancy that I cannot resist but to taste now and again.

So I let go, my arms rest and I sink rapidly to the abyss of consciousness.

Where the death of this harsh reality spawns a dream life.

A preferred existence.