9.10.14

My unseen dreams are calling me,
but the stream calls to me still.
My body winds down
oblivious to fingers
single willed.

There’s a cut on my ring finger,
the one on the right,
it’s slight,
but the pain likes to linger.

A little voice that says,
“Hey! Listen to me!
Be more careful, dishie!
If not, your next cut
might be a major slip up!
Remember last summer?
Messed your other finger up?
Don’t suck!
Cuts are not the bee’s knees,
infect you while you write,
can’t think of other things,
while you’re swimming
in streams
and stringing these strings
delaying dreams,
’cause “seems”
is as good as “real thing”.

The pictures behind your eyes
have not materialized
in so much time
that it’s worth breaking meter
and making words sound like each other.

You’re tired and you smell.
Maybe you’ll see your dreams this time.
Good night, Captain.”