I am not charmed by the mocking essence
in my dreams
how they tear the lids from the innocent viscosity
of my eyes
and wake me with words that appear to be squeezed
through an aperture of hope that was obviously closed down
is it shame?
is it grief?
that so much loss should pine in my waking head and
churn about and be perplexed by loss and hurt that will
forever dance in a sensual act of disentanglement
so I languish in this morbid state and hope
for a cessation of the wagging fingers that follow me