spending time with fog and smoke.

Right now you were sleeping,
a full spin of the clock
wound up your bedhead
untangled the tics from the tocs.

like locks in your eyes
a dangled detachment
from the gravity of everything that's still alive.

like the locks from your eyes
uncurling with hands,
the seconds from dreams
in a minute, or so it would seem.

Peel back your eyes,
unhinging the minutes from time.
new drapes and old windows
withering before our lives
i can still see myself inside.

A short piece of coin
for the man in the hat.
So he tossed it on the floor
and unraveled the rest of what was in his head.
The people pitched in and laughed for more.

The means are spent in the end.
By that I mean
the end of your cigarette
is rolling out of your chest.

In my dream I was bleeding,
and you were still reading,
underwater, not breathing.
the words were swimming in our heads,
written in red.
written and read.

A gospel receiving,
complete in the breeze when
the means meet the ends
of the last cloudy breath
and comes back again.

I begged you a scrap slip of paper,
to make note of things I'd forget
I stapled them to the ceiling
to seal them in my sleep
but i still haven't slept.

I borrowed my last bit of paper,
without thought of recovering lost time.
Its not really lost if its given
unbending my bill fold and spine.

Breathing for two.
Me and then you,
either way starts and ends like you
and me too.

by the time I wake up tomorrow
Repeat my prayers  over the nights last cigarette.
I'll be making ghosts out on the deck
watching what comes next.