Impossiblities

Parking lots. Lockers. A million high schools blurred into one.
A twisted hallway, a tiny dark classroom.

Chalkboards containing unfamiliar names, dates, words…
I’m failing to understand the dream,
begin noticing people from reality.

A missing tooth in a red plastic treasure chest.
I must put these ideas and more to rest.

Amusement parks complete with Ferris wheels, and
dizzy rides spring up allowing me a place to hide.

We drive on highways or down gravel roads,
across giant bridges but every time we swerve.

I fly through windshields. I wake, raking air
into breaking lungs.

Impossible details,
imprints of my sleeping life
interpreted in waking life…

It goes on like that until I click
the light pulling on a grimy white string
ending up in various versions of my bedroom
with all the lost antique furniture.

I get so lost. Confused. Then my mind turns to you.
Blank. Smiling in a sleepy state, demons set to rest
until I wake.

Fascist Dish Liquid

I demand my degree IMMEDIATELY! On the table, a radio’s basic functions are fueling future desire. Uncle Sam easily stocks freedom somewhere more temperate, reflecting our inherently religious policy. I desperately search for my editing egg, I insist you return the paint to prove its propose.
Take this theory: We launch suggestive factions, except a better way. Dear forest, I miss you, but my recent house advances my situation. Kind of like a strategy involving a young child and a gun. Impossible a century or so ago but now our husbands’ entry level jobs prove useful, adding generic items to our lists over all the years we are alive. Too many bottles of dishwashing liquid with no rag. Imitation kitchen plates proclaim victory for America. Our expensive payment is criminal and will traffic artist and whore alike unless truth intends to insure that the technological fashion of today does not cross into fascism tomorrow.

Daydream

I laughed at you
you smiled back,
and all I wanted
was to take a nap.

You make me feel
like we are ten,
and we are sneaking
out again.

I lose many minutes,
dreaming of you,
and many more thinking,
“how impossible…”
“…true.”

I wish it were different,
with a tinge of the same.

Same smile, different meaning,
real kiss, not a dream.