Words like
punches
thrown at
the rain.
Love’s
invisibility
present in
my brain.
An enemy
still a friend,
a friend
still an enemy.
My Bed.
No, that’s
not it.
None of it.
That’s not
it at all.
It’s dreams.
Long tiring
dreams.
Stirring me
with confused
messages, blurry
meanings
and nonsense
that lingers
like smoke
after a fire.
Old loves
mashed with familiar
fears,
between the uncertainty of
jumbled
dreamy flashes, mixed,
swirled in colorful
menageries of
tropical
horrors.
I did not
sleep, but lulled about
in a
prolonged memory, flavored
with items
of the present and
concerns of
the future. To toss
and turn in
mind and body.
My eyes were
closed but I could
still see
the trouble of choices,
past humiliations,
embarrassments.
The ghosts.
I could see the ghosts.
And they
haunted my lulled mind.
The invisible,
the indistinct, the
foggy, they
danced, in the rain.
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