vaguely edited SOC

your dreams
and I am stagnant with mud walls the smallest pool of water waiting the noon sun to be sucked to the sky and exist anew in a community of cloud vapor white fluffy boring except in angles and prism reflection -- a symbol of calm and relaxation. dull. sucked to the sky to become dull. where is my holy ascent? my machinal doves my crucifixtion my clarity my believers? why does the machine gun's rattle sound like the harsh terrored flapping of dove's wings? why do I dream the daughter of the man who no long inhabits my bed and

your dreams
I never meant to call you fool but where is my desert bollywood romance and you want me to be your naive admirer whom you drown in drugs and break her heart and don't you know that clouds cannot be drowned? and don't you know that I've lost my train of thought again and why can't I stay on track I hate this stupid book I bought in vanity and as such nothing good has come from it. Look at me I can't even write a stream of consciousness without pausing to think how absurd and I hate how down on myself I get when you aren't here I am sorry I need you to believe in me so badly, no I am not sorry

your dreams
you said my body was big enough
strong enough to shield
the world from the shattering pieces of my broken heart
but
shrapnel still makes holes in the barricades

and the barricade still bleeds and
eventually someone has to come out and rebuild or
come out and bury the dead.
the dead don't bury themselves
and yet--andyet--
I become the barefoot mother in the dirty, glass-strewn street
the mother who having no children, tends to all of them.
who carries dead bodies to the foot of the temple steps one by one

and yet and yet becomes the priestess who blesses and
prays for their white prism souls
becomes the janitor who interns their husks in the pauper's pyre
becomes the daughter who stands chained by her will to the city,
to stand against injustice and shelter the mothers
from the air strikes a broken heart in vanity makes

Your dreams
but I am stagnant cesspools of blocked ways and clogged drains.
I am exercising my right to fail and be miserable and i have been doing it far too long; I have become sick.

You dream
but I am unchaining myself from the gates;
the mothers can fend for themselves;
the temples can crumble with the priestesses inside;
the janitors can burn in their own furnaces--

you dream

but I will be sucked the sky, be a thundercloud
I will rain down my soul to flood the world with My dreams
and your dreams
will envy my broken heart