when sunshine burns.

I believe that travel-weary feet and
hitchhikers thumb should be classified
as epidemics.

..

I realized that train tracks are the opposite
of home yesterday and I began to wonder if metaphors
and double mint wrappers were enough to keep the
scent of loneliness from clogging my arteries
and tapping into my ever-fading senses.

I've grown tired of dreams lying to my sub-conscious
mind telling me that I am safe and warm living in
different times and Christmas-light towns glowing
softly in the cracks between my shoulder blades.

I'm sick of waking up.

..

Someone once told me that we have two realities that
we alternate moon by sunshine but I've learned
that our bodies are perfectly stationary. Dreams
are simply a way to make wishes when I don't trust
constellations.

A lie to resurface the truth.

..

I dream of strangers, pressing their fingerprints
into the wholes the knives of their peripheral presence
has faded into my mind. Much like a inside-out masquerade,
faces with no names.

I've come to believe that dreams are simply a funnel to strain
the what-if's out of my over-crowded system.

..

Though my interpretations of dreams fade to black
because no matter how sweet or horrible,

it is nothing in the morning.