In Dreaming.

Coffee lights me up
Stings
Pricks painful at my stomach
But gets my juices flowing
The creative kind
And I am typing without wondering
Casual typing of poetry on paper
Ha!
When you're wishing for a typewriter so you can experience the full sensory experience of it,
Dosing yourself higher with white powder
Staring up at the ceiling
Smoke wafting around purple caterpillars
It didn't matter when I told you about that time I dreamed about you smoking a hookah
It didn't make you different
Or change things between us
You still lost interest, eh?
It makes me crumble a bit
Internally
Knowing someone can do that
Someone can "lose interest"
When I've cultivated myself my whole life to be interesting...

Is that it?
The fear behind everything?
The box with the lid you fight opening?
The one you hold down with both feet and both fingers
Ah...
But it was stronger this time lassie
And popped forward
And protruded out
Until you couldn't ignore it any longer, eh?

A terrible and hideous refrain of longing
A clanging chime telling you how down you have to keep yourself
How horrid it's all been and how horrid it's all going to be
The chattering teeth proclaiming "You're boring!"
And that genius boy who plays the piano so prettily has better things to do
Than you.

You toss the cigarillo into the stream of the gutter water because it's burned down to the very stubble
And you look up at the blue eyes
The brown eyes
The long sparkling silver of her hair
The scraggly beard
The pencil swarming the paper
The poets, the dreamers, the actors, the princes all scrambling toward you
Smoke billows
You smell your own smell
Powder and lemon
He moved on.
But somebody wants you.