why do my dreams lay siege to me
as if I was a fortress of stone,
a dragon unconcerned with men’s matters,
a river who just picks up the bones
of foolish dreams who jump the chasm
and fall to drown in icy water,
for I move the other cliffside at will
at each new attempt I aim to kill
my aspirations if they’re too upsetting,
if they’ll move me into uncertainty:
the Zambone machine, I clear the ice
and sometimes the results are not so nice.
Archive for May 6, 1993
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I like my drunk poetry best
no matter what I say
when I’m dry and sober.
you know, the real emotions test
is being genuinely gay
when the damn day is over.
