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Description
I lose half dream on Thursday
and there are no heartstrings to vibrate and echo in its absence
no word that’s decent enough
to take its place
there is not the tentative pause of a movie -
the moment before lips touch
on Thursday I lose half a dream and say
‘oh’

I am told that I will meet people with the universe rubbed into their skin
those who carry themselves like an unused jacket
half off the hanger
I will meet people with sick souls or bird throats
people with a laugh like flat stones skidding across a glass lake
those who talk about their dogs too much or drink straight from the milk carton
people who are thawing instead of tearing inside or like the way a lie tastes
and I am told that I should think about my dreams
that are tangled like hair

some day, people tell me, I will find dreams beneath the overpass
glinting like chipped glass or the sort of colored rocks that get children excited
dreams splintered like they flew out a car window and exploded upon impact
into this fractured world
and I should know that they weren’t meant to be there
because they used to be something else

don’t tell me that holes in the sky the shape of lost face
don’t mean anything
or that people don’t hold onto money like a tree holds onto its leaves
resisting the stirring pull of autumn
or that people are easy to write down
because I know that the worst for me
has felt a chill
zipped its jacket to its chin
and turned the other way.

Description
I lose half dream on Thursday
and there are no heartstrings to vibrate and echo in its absence
no word that’s decent enough
to take its place
there is not the tentative pause of a movie -
the moment before lips touch
on Thursday I lose half a dream and say
‘oh’

I am told that I will meet people with the universe rubbed into their skin
those who carry themselves like an unused jacket
half off the hanger
I will meet people with sick souls or bird throats
people with a laugh like flat stones skidding across a glass lake
those who talk about their dogs too much or drink straight from the milk carton
people who are thawing instead of tearing inside or like the way a lie tastes
and I am told that I should think about my dreams
that are tangled like hair

some day, people tell me, I will find dreams beneath the overpass
glinting like chipped glass or the sort of colored rocks that get children excited
dreams splintered like they flew out a car window and exploded upon impact
into this fractured world
and I should know that they weren’t meant to be there
because they used to be something else

don’t tell me that holes in the sky the shape of lost face
don’t mean anything
or that people don’t hold onto money like a tree holds onto its leaves
resisting the stirring pull of autumn
or that people are easy to write down
because I know that the worst for me
has felt a chill
zipped its jacket to its chin
and turned the other way.