A DreamA Poem by Brett Moore
These cheap sheets itch
and no matter how many sheep manifest on this spackled ceiling, every single night, I am a sentinel. Counting backwards from total loss to love's conception in a truck cab, on the parkway, stars can't undo this particular set of failures. So i breathe deeply in a way that shows i'm in way over my head, but i'm wearing it well. --------- One deliberate step takes my body over the canyons edge, chasing air towards the river, where the water may wash me clean, but the fall will hurt like hell. I don't have the strength to drag myself out and crawl up that cold, sharp rock again. I'd rather drown somewhere down stream in the warm, still water of the lake. And if clean hands try to save me, I'll take them, and shake them. Life is too short to be impolite and too long to abide loneliness. One moment closer to sleeping in the water as a broken man, but more solidly climbing, slowly back up the canyon just to walk off the edge.
© 2014 Brett MooreFeatured Review
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Added on May 9, 2013Last Updated on January 16, 2014 Author
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