I’m somewhere old
fighting for a hand, dying in
Ukiyoe. Earth is esoteric
climbing cigars
spewing at psychs. I dream
a dream, to travel a
dream, skeptic of a first love.
She drains for
death, to rebate life, to
harness skepticism. I
soul a light, even a first child
playing in puddles.
Its year one, painting toes
eager to know
mother. She disappears, ever
a little room,
beaming through bulbous
eyes. I know for
mommy, to grope for breast, as
innocent as
second breath. We wrestle time
a feeding scheme
drifting throughout addiction. I
grain a father
sprinkled with water, splaying
with poodles. We
chime like bees, stinging for
laughing, unaware
of purchase; for now for dreams
psychs for
screams, harnessed through
pressures. Am I to
ponder, a baby’s stroller, rolled
through hells; for
where is mother, but insane
asylums, mourning
a baby boy.
