wheeling dreams—
nocturnal sorts—swishing in
a black cup of sky
wheeling dreams—
nocturnal sorts—swishing in
a black cup of sky
how much is
simply smoke—first reality
seared?
on childhood maps, all
encompassing words stretch
border to border
only
calm tones identifying
scenes moving
censure set
aside—less tutting and more
breathing
the needle—as I
nap—circles its drain, lifts,
lands, and starts again
nearly awake—my
sixth grade life science teacher
tells me I’m dreaming
cup to wall
listening to a neighbor’s
sonata
mimic songs
stretching through stringed syllables
no space to inhale
mid-paragraph, my
missed typo surfaces and
dances in plain sight