The Night Train to Denver
It’s risky
business,
transporting
contraband from
my dreams
into the
waking world,
because the
waking world’s
not awake.
The waking
world is
out like
a light
& dreamless,
a pink
hum of
complacency.
Maybe you
see where
I’m coming
from,
maybe not.
Maybe you’re
my dreams’
contraband,
struggling to
escape
on a
thought wave.
My dreams
may be
nothing but
contraband,
something that
can be
smoked shot
up or
loaded into
a gun.
Does this
mean we can
no longer
sleep together?
Sing songs
& go hiking?
What questions
to ask
myself!
What sort
of answers
am I
waiting for?
What’s in
the brown
paper bag
that I
won’t let
go of?
I’m on
the night
train to
Denver &
I’ve locked
myself in
the uni-sex.
