dream, february this year

as yet
we stay like
walking tightropes
or bent
sheets of decay.
I am no longer hopeless,
but a mist on the
distant ocean,
I can connect to all
that decays and breathes
starlight and clatters
forlorn along the
pavement.
But there is a warning.
Giant moon headed man
creeps forward and
whispers, man strung
up by his throat,
looks at me with a
terrible torture.
I have seen this all
before a thousand
million times,
broken necked villains
who just don't deserve
to die
that way.
But I feel no fear
in my conscious mind,
but as I slip
through the gaps
in the net,
this is not true,
I am still torn asunder,
I am still breaking up.
I am waiting for
the precipice
to go over.
This is vertigo,
a heady feeling.
This is crashing waves
in Summer
when no Summer is to be
found
gnashing between my teeth.
I am a lover again.
and what is true of this?
What of when all
the particles and
electrons and neutrons
and testosterones and
eggs come to land again?
I am particle soup,
stirred thoroughly
and often.
and will I still be hungry?
Will I want to eat it
from a bowl?
Do I even know this person?
Is he a stranger with
a familiar tongue?
Or are we onto summat here?
It feels real enough, and not real,
a scented flurry
into beyond,
a lightweight
dusted star shine,
a brilliant
reflection in the
polished urn,
wonderful,smacking
wonder, tempting,
enticing, and fun.
This is playing
with romance,
making the strings
sing again.
Perhaps, a joke.