tell me that i’m doing it right

in my dreams are these memories
of tall boys playing me philip glass
and promising a lifetime of sweet things,

like dew drops on 4 o clock flowers
and weaving the thread between you and
i until the shadows stop swaying from left
to right and into oblivion.

you are trying to be beautiful boy but
what is in it?

i am built of the sun rain and grass, but
when you speak i am built of the bundle of
stress you’ve used to lace yourself together.

tell me that i’m doing it right, in between
these quiet rains and long trains. tell me
its only a whisper.

tell me there is sweetness in the world
outside. i have in my memory only air
and joy, only light and love.

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