in dreams

to where does my mind run,

at nine in the evening

with red eyes and red sun?

floating on breezes

it goes where i cannot.

head bobbing up and down

in agreement to sleep

i mumble words to call it back.

i can't chase something into time,

but still i call my horse until i am

and hope that it's not a mare.

i give one final bob

and,

spilling my drink

i catch up in dreams.

i need

i need thoughts to be tangible

i need to hold them in my hand

unweave them in my fingers

set them against the light

and play Sherlock Holmes

instead they build up in my mind

like air in the lungs of children

who want to be the best

i suffocate under ideas and suspicions

why? how? when?

and most often,

who?

unlike air

i can't find the path from thought to mouth

i blow and blow

but always,

i just turn

blue.

on disappearing

i enjoy disappearing

shutting off my phone

hiding my letters

locking my doors

turning off my eyes

i build labyrinthine worlds

and trace the depths of my mind

just deep enough so that i don't fall in

i dance with phantoms

to the drumbeat of my heart

occasionally interrupted

by the doorbell's call

if the ringing doesn't stop

i kiss the ghosts goodbye

and climb back out

into the void.

synapses

i couldn't tell you what i think

even if i wanted to

for there are three moons and countless stars

(though i spend all my time counting)

maybe Galileo sat at his desk with parch/ment/lips

and tried to find the cure

his method disguised as his pretence

but nonetheless pure

unwinning led to here

we stand in time & space

we here

not you and i

or you and me

but minds are transcendent

they are the key

though we know not

where to find the lock.

in difference

where to?

pressure enveloping my bones

[your collar matches your hands]

caught and released

straying from your gaze

or

stray [you] from mine

anywhere is free

but

here isn't anywhere

now.

torrential triteness

absorbed into the atmosphere

i only appear moved to avoid the quagmires.

returns

a collection of perceptions

convoluted

to the point of becoming

mere fragments,

disjointed like static

and just as loud.

what is real?

time/form/feeling

flowing and meeting

fleeting glimpses

universes conversing

without knowing

holding our ears and

staring up

with clenched eyes

pray that focus

will become of us

while fearing the masterpiece.

tribulations

it is pressing

down

it's all i can do to stop myself from being crushed

air is esc ap i n g

my lungs are burning

i inhale aliens

coughing i try to find

what i am looking for

to bring me back to what i knew

but i know not what that was

i know what i want

ed

not

this

where can it be

why must it be

so

the weight is the world