What's next?
Another dream about her sex?
Another lingering reminder of her that
makes me as blue as worn jeans?
I should know by now
these thoughts of her
no longer bring me joy,
these thoughts only lead me
endlessly migrating toward nothing.
Once again I find myself
hopelessly thinking that
this time I can reveal the sacred message
of what we could've shared.
And once again,
this dreamer becomes the fool
as areas of this dream's emphasis
keeps fading away
until it vanishes into thin air
and no matter how hard
I chase after them
my legs can't go fast enough,
running and running until
I'm left in the middle of
a vast field of emptiness
as my dream of her ends
and reality of my solitude resumes
with a page staring at me,
showing only the words of
a poem that is now heading
nowhere.
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