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we were flies in a beehive
carried by transparent wings flickering
and unheard in the swarm’s buzz storm
looking for an exit to the building
we were drawn into the mystery
by its qualities of ambiguity
these leaves aren’t dead
they found the ground and leapt
around toward new homes
on fallen trees along the riverbed
those were the days
when we cared less
about lost sleep because
our dreams were frequent and vivid
and the wakeful life loved and lived in
my limo arrives with blown out back windows
covered by plastic and spattered by rain
driven by a man in a santa hat
whose beard is black and patchy with gray
when the wheels stop spinning I step right in
to a coniferous interior with Christmas tree scent
where thick vines grow in place of seat belts
and soft pine needles thread lines of indigo
his grin is crooked, his sunglasses tinted
the dusty dashboard is scorched and bent in
a disco ball jumps when the light turns green
and the bumper sticker on the crumpled trunk reads
may we meet again?
at the speed we’re going
it’s hard to believe
an hour has passed
long telephone poles
move along our windows
keeping unreliable time
i want to be full of wisdom
like eight toddlers in a line
holding the rope
on a sidewalk stroll
who don’t care where they’re going
and the teacher who pulls
we’re both on the fish oil
mine fills a soft pill
yours pumps in uneven lumps
from the slippery bottle
I keep in the fridge
by the milk and the eggs
knowing our moment will arrive
and it can never be too late
in support of my mental wellbeing
whatever that means
and to help your muscles weaken
at a less rapid rate
we swallow fish oil
deep sleep under my feet
i’m wide awake, listening
to the dream of frisbee in the teeth
running back toward me
