Even While I Dream

Expeditionary force
very small fortified
posts.

Made a mental note
of a lousy war story
the morning time to read
things were all possible
on paper.

Experts were aiming
cannons at ruins
that had already
felt the cold hands
of civilization-
saying to
all the world-
take this.

Thinking about Babylon
and other places I could
go to right now.

And, didn’t life begin
with me facing space-
nothing like traveling
to broaden the mind.

I was some guy.
You were some girl.
Who was that someone
hours later who knocked
on the door?
They never stayed long
enough like detectives
fleeing blank pages.

Childhood contents is
what I had asked her
opinion of, right?

He knew to look east
in the half light
of the cafe toward
his feet.

Inert shapes loomed
in the distance of
tomorrow.

Listening carefully
to tall tales of peg leg men
and ghosts in the evening
by lamp light.

I’m none of those.

Dried out,
washed up-
maybe?

I was laughing in the
end I was not that
smart, right?

Do you ever have time,
and so on.

There is always as much
noise as I like here.

I know I had to have had a
mother and father, and my
girlfriend mustard- my true
love with .38 caliber eyes.

Mother’s voice reading.
Father’s voice singing.
Sister laughing madly
in the soft rain falling.

My eyes shine
one wall
two, three, four
scared to pieces
easy rooms
everything in love,
and in the morning
again blank pages.

It knocks me in the head
like that stranger, now
banging on the door,
a man should never
be defined by the
horizon of the
rooms that make
up his life.

Like the egg cracking
against the pan- I
have known the fear
of frying. I’ve been
delirious with
melancholy just
collecting all
these
damnable
war stories
that make you
laugh, but
make me
feel slightly
less human.

Staring at my
feet of clay
trying to be
a hero,
a gentleman,
yet looking out
at sea like a soldier
turned sailor
wondering
about the pelagic
nature of
love
and
everything
else.

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2 thoughts on “Even While I Dream

  1. “girlfriend mustard- my true” … This line makes me laugh because I like to do this weird thing I call “re-wrap” or “wrap-around” when there’s punctuation mid-line in a poem. I start the sentence after the comma, period, or dash, and then I read it to the end of the line and then go back to the line’s beginning. Like this: “my true girlfriend, mustard.” LOL. Ignore me. I’m nuts.

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