Dreams (a poem)

Get your butterfly nets, your giant hooks a sharpened
ready for mouths a gaping, the eyes flopped lollygaged style floundering, sifting, lounging.
Feel them in, gaff them well, club and club and club
until the feet dont feel well, or see the light; till toes cant stand the dancing.

These emotions, they feel like insanity rising,
they seem like stick stuck caught between the hard walls,
bouncing off the long halls, fleeing, gaining near to you.
All the flavors of a hug held near (sell it, dear)

For the only time I forget you, is in the imagined arms of another nearing,
which is a lie for none compete; they are stories strung true, twist clearly
yet I wake each night - yes, every single night, crying, feeling listless
from dreams of your hands there, outstretched, so near. Nearly....

She caught me as one does a gift, did not turn away
that female folly, coming near, oft draining down.
You pull me into me, I sometimes spinning and don't know what to do
you shift me in to you, that kiss stopping time and mercy up and unto itself.

Babe, I woke from this day amongst a dream of you,
at the top of the stairs, sitting in that tightened way
saying all the things I thought I needed, wanted, desired now to bear
Not trusting that version of you, for the real you it churns

in all its twisting brain matter, punked me dearly,
Struck me clearly with a strait look, a wiggled butt
(The way she danced down the hall, grey walls decorated dearly)
She didn't revolt enough there, it seems! Getting her hair a ready. A dream? XD

Babe, visit thus again, thus prep your hands for the holding
for its getting dark, your symbols quickly disappear
time continues to draw us, all the sad songs bind us,
till the Son comes round once again.

Babe, come again,
for the shades are falling, the stars are calling;
the dark, its getting near.
The cold, it rises.

Oh, so very dear; the nearing.
Adieu.

Last Night

Last night I dreamed.  Not of time, or for the first time (or hard thing things), but just simply of you.

(and of yours, of course; of could-be ours and then some)

It started at my grandparents cottage, of course.  The front yard, furthest from the lake, full of snow and the anticipation of everything nearing, all my family coming in, getting together, coming close.  My sister was in the kitchen, my cousins pulling in, everything part of that joyous madhouse that only the initiated can come to know and understand and love so well.  

Then somehow (go figure) we were at Jackies new place, which wasn't actually her real one of course, but a blending of yours and of color and bright and green, just before sun-up.  You had risen early from working hard the day before, and my heart went out as you made sure to come right over and kiss me, before I could stumble or tumble or even fall then off the couch.  My heart fell then too, not down or out, nor wheeling or screaming from my chest....but instead UP, hoping to brighten everything around that it could touch, same as you do, same as you always will and would and seems to come as easy as the way you pull me close (same as you always do).   You would go out and slay it that day, each day, every day, of course you would, as long as your gorgeous legs would hold and lungs collected breath.  

(Somewhere behind, I could hear your husband making lunch sandwiches for the kids, getting ready for the day, getting everything ready for the next, go figure).  We should have tripped over that same rock as we tussled, laughed aloud and of course ended up entwined on the floor, TV somehow now on above, a glowing.  My father came in, grumbling that his tie for work somehow got wrapped around us as we embraced.  I tossed it to him and he rolled his eyes, knowing, they all know, they all have always had so much love to show and offer (and were the ones that taught me how I am and would eventually come to be).

Then the bus honked, and you had to go.  Out to the front courtyard, down the steps and the dance troupe hanging out of windows, and yes more bright colors, certainly, and garb, and oh how well you would hug and fit in amongst them.  I did not pat your rear or smile too much (for that would be a sin in moments like these, those), here at least on the great days, here on the finally getting a chance to shine true and rise up and join the best of the rest as they stand.  

My heart, that of pure gold now.

(That of matching your own; our hair)

For the night before I didn't dream: how could I?  A thousand happy things spinning round, and a giant lighting of the sun just in the middle, I simply falling in.  Mayhap impossible to escape its gravity.

(Especially while diving amongst..)

...for what will tomorrow, or the first of the mornings real true light now next bring?

Either way, my heart stays here, waits here, waits a trembling, oh just trembling so.