Dream Inside a Green Pail
where have you gone?you used to sit outside the house on the corner and when I passed, you would say hello like a lover
I've yet to know.
In another dimension of yesses and nos and I don't think sos, you are sitting on the corner still. You wave at me as I go to my no-longer job, smiling at the no-longer-spring, and you say, as I pass, "you have beautiful hair."
I don't know your name, but somewhere in the somewhere I know your breath and your stomach and the curve of your back as you lean over in the morning for a kiss.
your ears here don't know the way I would say goodbye, but somewhere in the somewhere they do.
sitting in front like buddha
he gains nourishment
cross-legged lax expression pasty complexion glazed vision
he becomes oneimprison
with the television.
This is the place where I left my shirt last night (now long gone) before it decided I was no longer worthy of its sleeves. The buttons lie on the floor, missing the fabric they were attached to. "I am sorry," I say to them, "sometimes things pull away from you and you are left alone and cold on the floor in a pile of uselessness." They stare back blankly, devoid of thread eyes and thread lips, and together we whisper for a new piece of warmth.
He was a dream inside a green pail, waiting for someone to pour him out.
