With the cupboard  wide open,

the spirits can wander in and out, and get caught in cobwebs not swept up since March.

With your mouth wide open, 

You are  just able to reach the dishes,

if only if you  could stretch out your arms a little further,

but you’re no martyr.

Knock away the crumbs and  some additional cobwebs on the top shelf,

write your name in cursive in the pensive layer of  dust,

an editorial,  to say the least.

When you do, you just might feel the wind from the wings of bats, and birds and  of dragons,

                    as for the dragons, you’ll feel their fire, too.

                                                        you’ll feel my fire, too.

 When you do, write your name again, and again.

step out of the kitchen

and climb to the top of the lighthouse,

lean over the balcony, just out of reach from the knives  and the leftovers,

                                                  and from the crowded cupboards,

                                                 and the growing gardens.

Step closer to the television and get lost in exclusivity,

                    You’ll know what it feels like to be a diamond, in this moment,

in this cafeteria, you’ll surely be lost.

          Away from the microwave, you’ll miss the heat,

          you’ll  surely end up  missing the microwaves, too.

and the spirits, even though they disappeared without a trace  at the very  beginning,,,

You’ll miss the forests that you wandered away from

                                                 and the buckets that you used to bring  water up from the well,

                    That water your carried  is colder than those spirits,

You spilled the water , and that was  honestly the best case scenario.

Go back to that well and look down into nothing,

                       retrace your steps and find nothing,

                 Look down at your feet and find nothing,

I hope you’ll turn the brightness down soon, its a little too much for me right now,

                                                                      nothing

is definitely  a little too much for me right now, anyways.

The blindfold is placed over my eyes,

and there is no darkness.

                 it is just  a jungle instead.

Complete with jaguars, and tigers, and empty shoeboxes

looking down  at  me from the treetops,

as if I weren’t the  prey

As if it was I who  was hunting them//  as if  it was I who  was haunting them

                    I move slowly,  about the trees,

looking down at empty shoeboxes  like fallen apples,

and the jaguars and the tigers were still there,  too.

I am no apex,

I am only among the trees and the  empty shoeboxes,

that look a lot like fallen apples.

Hallways too long, behind us now,

it has become hard to swallow, and the sound of your own voice is now  enough to make you cringe,

    ignoring all these warning signs and the flashing lights,

and ignoring the sound of your own voice

as well as  the number for poison control.

 The band playing in the                              background,

and  lightning strikes during the day, in the foreground,

in these dreams,

I can still hear the sound   of the footsteps like raindrops,

in these dreams,

like balloons popping  after coming into contact with  violent ceiling fans,

or scraping against the popcorn ceiling,,,,,,

But this room is too crowded and this house is too crowded,

and the popcorn ceiling is the perfect shade of blinding white.

in these dreams.

        There are too many birds on the wire outside,

I will find a new house, with a new voice and new birds on new wires.

I want to dream  new dreams of snakes chasing other snakes,

and I want to skip song after song after song

and not be penalized for it.

,,,, its been a long time since I have seen any snakes,

                    Let me be exhausted, let the snakes  instead come to me in my sleep.

                                                  Let me be clear,

There will be a new band too, and they will be in  all of my future dreams.

And new actors to replace the old, tired ones.

And they will drown out the echoes of  my footsteps

and your footsteps,

and the hissing snakes,  that are only just now visible,

and the ope            ning of doors,

                                         that hisssssssssssss behind you, in their own way.

                          This new  band will play all the hits,

but  I’ll end up in the garage, out of reach of the stars and the music and the streetlights,

                                                                 unpacking it all,

the good silverware and  the drum sets you didn’t remember buying and never played.

Carefully  laying furniture on its side like a wounded animal,

                                                                                                                                     too carefully, perhaps.

I am careful not to break any of the nice dishes, though.

                                             At least this dream has windows, and skylights even.

                           This is the new place where I can  dream  now , and I can even see the  sky from here,

in these dreams,

           I feel the ocean breeze blowing through my hair ,

in these dreams,

                                     or maybe its blowing in  from over the hilltop,

all  of this beauty,  suddenly compromised.

All of this  beau….anyways.

                                              All  this before I make  contact with the ceiling fan.

Caught in the longest line,

like your,

my foot in a bear trap.

11 items.

The light will go off, just ahead of me and the person in front of me,

who had 12 items,

and well be stuck with melting ice cream, together.

Standing at the edge of woods, looking now at a cabin that has no lights,

afraid to step on yet another bear trap.

We will melt together.

melting in our warm, entitled, sticky hands.

I’ll stand there,

mouth agape at yet another full moon,

with echoes pouring out

“take me with you“

and the moon smiles back, and whispers something about spare change.

There is talk of serial cereal behind me,

behind us, behind them.

Spoken in cipher,

sung in unison

shouted from balconies,

and

discussed behind empty shelves.

From beyond the produce aisle, and the catacombs that lie beneath.

far away from the apricots,

the ice cream has officially melted as I slither into a different mundane line,

amongst so many other snakes.

Still waiting my now neopolitan turn,

Shoes still squeaking on the waxy floor,

they even squeak when you don’t move.

Melting,

squeaking

with so many others,

and their ice cream,

and their bottles of bleach.

I will wait until the conveyer belts moves my 11 items,

waiting for the fluorescent lights to adjust to your

my eyes.

waiting patiently for the hot water to run out,

as the water waits patiently on me,

anxiously waiting to get even further away from the Apricots.

Counting  columns on the highway, counting speedbumps,

                                 Dodging coyotes and potholes alike,

although the two are not mutually exclusive.

 Traveling with your audience  of coffee cups, and straw wrappers and loose change,

some of which  take refuge under the seats, some of which,

                                                                       is only refuse.

             Focus on the on the biggest stage of all,

and quint to make out all the details.

focus on the tops of volcanos

focus on the descent.

                        You’re  aimed towards the sun, like precision artillery,

                      like icarus or

a pointed finger, or an obelisk,

                                                       or a basilisk.

You  forgot your poisonous  sunglasses at home on the kitchen counter.

The sun will still shine on your countertop, and on your clean, neatly stacked  plates

and on your ( now cold)  scrambled eggs, too.

Sunny side up, too.

The sun wont cook you’re breakfast, but you knew that.

You are taut like cast fishing poles, rigid,,

alluring,

                                            still thinking about the eggs.

Something is on the  other end, your just not sure if it’s a whale or

     just more tidal waves,

                          or adjacent freight trains,

Something has you by the neck,

Maybe it’s more commercials,

Maybe it’s the location of  the stolen art, or the piercing   static even,

You have arrived at your destination.

But be prepared to make more waves,

more tidal waves.

                  Shake hands at the zoo, and bump into people you barely know,

walk through the metal detectors and past friendly security guards,

leave your keys in your pocket even,

you are practically  made of metal anyways.

Remove the excess coinage,  and place them over your eyes,

The water isn’t nearly as deep here,,,,

Tread quietly towards this river,

Quietly,  past Sharon,

              Past Cerberus,

making more  silent waves as you walk,

as you silently  swim,

as you saunter deeper and deeper until your legs are no longer visible beneath you,

 all you see is more silent  waves,

                            just more tidal waves,

                                      and adjacent freight trains.

You’ll miss the rain when its gone,

you’ll miss scrolling and left and scrolling right,

your eyes cant keep up anyways.

but you’ll learn to type in the dark without looking,

That’ll go on the shelf,

with the epitaphs and and other accolades.

you’ll miss all the rest of your queues and

you’ll probably miss breakfast too.

You’ll miss the applause

all of the applause, deserved or otherwise.

You’ll also miss all of the refreshments,

…..especially the appetizers

The grass is already greener,

trust me, I can tell.

Are you feeling pensive and organic?

Because you overplayed your hand

trust me, I overplayed mine.

You had your title shot,

and I had mine,

and were already to the credits, now,

the long lonely credits,

so get your sunglasses on, already.

because mine fell between the seats.

Your name is on every letter,

and every signature is different.

Every creature,

benign and exquisite,

each better then the last.

Reduced to satire, and laughed out of the gated community,

exiled off to float in your very own dead sea,

exiled to bowl or golf by yourself,,,,,,,

floating through me,

buoyed by water wings,

buoyed by angels wings,

attached like barnacles,

biting at me like cannibals.

I can endure the crustaceans gathering at my ankles,

but the undead,

oh, the undead

sinking me lower,

below the vertebrates and more undead,

attached to my brain now,

parasites in unison,

preying on my thoughts,

praying over me.

He always walked in an wiped his feet,

and his signature was the same as mine,

and now their signatures were the same, too.

those neighbors,

those apparitions.

Dressed in muted shades of blue;

after midnight,

especially for midnight

…with good shadows?

…with good shadows.

Trembling hands hovering over silverware,

certainly unsure of sunrises, and also which utensils to use,

holding out for that particular silverware,

holding out for some kind of sunrise,

you are not at the dinner table , though,

your time at the long table has passed.

Your spurs gleam in the moonlight, cowboy.

They speak to you,

cowboy.

Crunching under your feet like your walking on broken glass,

or broken plates,,,

wait for your tumbleweeds to pass,

and for someone, anyone to sweep up that broken glass,

or broken plates,,,

You are not in a western.

and there is no one else in your corner now.

You were absent from our bonfires.

Now it’s just you and the howling winds,

You stand right where houses wish to stand,

in a neighborhood I hope they’ll never finish,

with feet you wish you had,

holding out for some kind of sunrise.

When your hands grab the pizza wheel,

while you were actually searching for the knives.

Basking in the blue light of the light of the refrigerator ,

basking in that new light, letting it hit your face,

and the cool breeze, is

well, cool.

It hadn’t occurred to you there was a new watch on your wrist.

A new detective on the wrist case.

It hadn’t occurred to you there had been a time change.

It hadn’t occurred to you there was light in your face,

blinding you,,,

the sun was in your face,

blinding you,,,,

or meteors shooting across the sky,

blinding you.

The room had been partially painted blue,

you have been partially painted blue,

floating,

like a buoy,

floating,

like your sleepwalking,

like a planet,

like a reckless meteor.

Be careful you don’t cut your hands digging around in that drawer.

Knives are knives,

Whether or not the sun is beating down on you,

down on your smiling face,

they are still knives ,

floating or not.

They grow in the corner,

Catching water like me,

with praying hands like me.

Making the same bird calls that I make with

praying hands

half-full of water

half-full of birdcalls,,,,

half-full of hallways,,,,,

They grow in the corner,

without any help from me.

Slipping through my praying hands,

into the valleys,

into the corners,

bleeding into the corners

bleeding onto the speakers

away from the sunshine,

away from the feedback

away from the birdcalls,

away from me.