A Venice Radio with twinkling thoughts of streets flooded with crystals.
And my dreams of objects that shoot from me like missiles.
Of a dark-haired moon girl wither her lips pressed against my cool ones.
Of a man with stories to be sung.
And when my mother tells me to “be here now,”
I feel a gathering sense of unwillingness to comprehend.
But I realize that with practice it will help me mend.
A loves arms wrapped around the bed post.
A desire impossible when my love is on the other side of the coast.
So I will let slumber envelop me.
And take my imagination to wherever I am permitted to be.