Dreams Are Straight Lines.

My life is a straight line.
My life has changed.
From one day to the next.
Nothing is broken.
Nothing is faded.
We care about what is between trees.
We care about what is between water.
Water is faded from the mist.
We are mad hatters.
The mad hatters are this:
Turning like spinning wheels,
Turning like things are broken,
The hand is eschewed on broken
Lines.

We dream dreams.
We speak dreams when nothing
Is a dream.
We are not a dream that is not
Circumvented.
We are awake and nothing
Is sleeping.
Pour the water into the well.
Pour the water into the gravel.
We let men wear top hats.
We sing songs to sad rainforests.

I stick up for stick people.
I draw them on desks in classrooms.
People force us to speak to classrooms.
Men are drawing lines
On gravel roads.

My life is a straight line.
Don’t stick up for me.
Don’t draw stick people.
What it’s gotta be,
Is what we see after we see.

We dream dreams.
We walk on straight lines.
We are broken when things are mended.
We catapult into the air and onto
Dead grass.
The grass is dead at my feet.
The shoes are worn and faded.

I wake up tomorrow, and talk about the
Negative.

The Morning I Lessen.

All the night.

All the dusk.

I walked down the street. Walked with my head up, drinking rain.

Rain falls.

Secrets about rain.

Secrets, secrets about somesuchnonsense, she whispered. Her words. curve. Sorrow is nonsense syllables.

Colors fade.

Night. Nights broken.

You. You left. Shattered, grains. Screams of ghosts. Night. Night is good. I am homeless. I am broken. Words creep across stained glass. I sit in churches. Sit, glance, seize dayz and throw them out.

Too many lines. You snarl. Too many lines like cat claws. Throw words in gutters.