Young Writers Society

Update: Poem 30

I know this update is late, uhm.

my apologies for the falling asleep
of my feet in the car, for being so slow,
and so hopeful, and so deafblind. i am sorry
that i have maps sketching out my ribs, the easiest
route to your ever-changing perceptions.

it is my fault that my eyes carve deeper into my head, that
the hammocks under my irises are sagging.
i have spent too many nights traversing a dreamworld,
but never sleeping until morning demands it.

i've made it a habit to give each dream a name;
some i remember because they are speaking wondertrails
on your lips; others i do not take care to remember

because like an avalanche, they are meaningless, only serving
to bury us alive.
you say i am meaningless. you say
every dream has the same fate--maudlin
and willful,
hanging over the windshield like thick fog.

i am obscuration and you are inexorably
un-explainable.