My dreams have become Boring Dreary things
The Cypress Trees aren't racing the moon,
The guitars don't have heads
like a rabid dog
I can't smell the sweet damp roses
or the gardenia in the groom's lapel
The vase isn't dancing under
the stars,
or swirling in the garden,
my dreams have become
boring dreary things,
instead, I dream of
people sneezing or
driving in traffic,
they jog through
my dream at 5 am,
how's it going?
they yell & wave
They check their
smartphone,
they walk their
dogs through my
witty conversations
and ask me for
a baggie when it
goes poop
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