wet dream

sometimes I wonder

what I would say if I were to wake

in dream. what I might say to

the people who now refuse to speak

as anything but an elegy of their being.

they are reduced, or

perhaps revived in the storms of

neurons firing back

and forth trying to find

some semblance of meaning

in the banalities of life.

and then seeking an end to it all

after the banalities find theirs.

that makes it double suicide.

wouldn’t that be nice?

not the suicide, I mean

that’s okay. not great. but.

but I mean the dream.

waking up in a place

where we could solve

all our problems and worries,

and burst into two sudden streams

of tears, a great ejaculation

of baggage, and fear, and love, too.

though then, I suppose,

we would be an elegy too.

wouldn’t that be nice.