i wrote this before sleep

having been someone else i can now rest
loitering by the sea side
exhausted.

below me there is dirt,
rock,
lengths of dead things,
a core.

nothing is separate
in its difference.

language of decay erases my
tongue and shoots arrows
from my spectral eyes,
inviting only pleasure,
sweetest hum,
left to orchestrate.

i rush swiftly like the Willamette,
flowers blossoming unto flowers,
chains of Forget Me Not,
threading my neurons with a symphony,
my bones with a vortex.

here i am, dreaming
here i am, dreaming
here i am, dreaming
dreaming
dreaming