Lucid Dreams

In the wake of dreams I wander for the place where I will ultimately belong,
where the painful rip of old cement memories, little pitter-patter thoughts cease,
no longer invading my soul – my being – and I will be free from myself!
I will be free from the ever present tapping of an unsettled spirit,
the ever-present rattle of thoughts unhinged and fragile and breaking.
Every moment the fracturing shatters me from the inside.
Every moment are the bells and distant breathy ashes of unsettled whispers.
Every moment is a shadow of stinky sultry salty air that mingles in my nightscapes.
Every moment begs to be released from a hairy netted grip that squelches out
the life and air.
In the wake of dreams I look for you and know that you will never come,
and I am wandering in aching heavy mists of filtered atmosphere and oily skies,
wandering among the ghosts of times that have since past – and pass again
every moment in my waking sleep.
I am desperate for the end of paltry incandescence that still sway me,
my mind fettered with wine and old days that still rot in saline memory.
Every moment I listen for the holy steps of my laughter.
Every moment I am in panicked anticipation for the return of my something lost.
In the breath of waking dreams I am breathless, waiting, hoping, listening
for the return of my precious something lost.

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