From one dream do we pass into the next, with only its like to compare with.
I watched the leaves rustle outside my window and felt the wind pass through me. The branches were so close, I wanted to reach out and grab them; to swing under them and laugh and fear falling.
And I'm in my father's apartment where I grew up, staring out the bedroom window at the tree outside and wondering if I could jump to them and escape.
And I'm explaining my hope to be a professional escape artist to Denise, with her eyes reflecting my words with shimmering heat.
And Greyhound stops somewhere in Nevada for a smoker break so I hop down, light up and lean back to admire the moon's resonating madness.
And I'm smoking a cigar with shirt stuffers, reflexively laughing at life's freedom by mistaking it for misfortune.
And the day is warmer than yesterday, with caressing breezes and a sun that shines while I'm dreaming.
Posted by Matt at March 2, 2004 02:25 PM