Chill-Out (in the night they’re all asleep)

A prose-poem

In my dreams I hear the sounds of a hundred wishes to make in the morning. They echo off each other and in my head, flowing out my ears as I sleep-walk-shuffle across my kitchen-discotheque. 

In my dreams I have fleas and long, shaggy hair to shake them from. Who knows how long they’ve been feeding on me. I settle on a park bench and look up at the stars, remembering life before, when it wasn’t so cold out. Yeah, I remember. 

In my head burn a lot of questions I want answers too. But if curiosity is a hunger, I’m fasting because I know no one will answer. Makes me want to fly with the owl that lands on the street light. 

The cityscape is omnipresent with droning traffic that cops can’t stop. The madness we all really want is to be free from the monotone drip-drop city pop pipes, broken and pouring onto dirt making mud, spelling what we think our names used to be until the sun set and it became perpetual night.  

Yeah, I remember… 

Reviews

[Chris]

I used to sit on the sea walls and watch the herd gather round the firepits and old chem drums. Cold was a state of mind ...you shivered 'til you didn't - have a mind or weren't cold.

If your mind was ok you dressed layered and newspapers were good insulation. Being wet sucked. Anyways good thoughts man.

[UnendingOceans]

Being cold does suck. And thank you.