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A Dreamcatcher for the Insomniac

Poetry & Prose | February 19, 2013

across a museum of mythical history and a wal-mart
there is a trapdoor in the sky
but the carelessness of sprites and sirens
left it locked from the inside
in the alley between a cathedral and highway overpass
there is an industry that manufactures dreams
but their pretty words wrapped in perfumed plastic
dissolve back into steam

do you remember back in junior high
you would instant message me late into the night
we used to hotbox my pillow fortress
and it was in there you gave me my first kiss

now i see the world is made of reinforced concrete
my mind is stained, as are my sheets
i have seen the nuns doing lines before prayer
i guess we’ve all constructed our castles in the air
with the sweaty crosses and dollar bills clutched in the palms of their hands
i watched my castles disintegrate to sand

costco refused to develop half the photos in my roll
they were all negatives of the graffiti of prophets scrawled on bathroom stalls
and dark shadows of your sneakers strung upon telephone lines
you are the freudian slip on the tip of my tongue and the back of my mind

i know there are some boys out there that like sleeping with virgins
the thought rushes blood to their groins and releases their endorphins
but what if she is dressed as jabba the hut on halloween
instead of some sexy sweaty ivory queen

there is something so beautiful about half-smoked cigarettes
maybe the same beauty that’s inside
mushroom clouds, suicide and regrets

the white men constructing maps drew straight lines to divide this world
now they ask for pledges of allegiance over intercoms
from all the boys and girls
the executioners are on strike for working overtime
the prisoner’s death sentence has now been extended
an indefinite amount of time
well, now he is no different from you or i

only when i kneel before the firing squad
do i remember i never reposted that facebook status about loving god
gabriel and the archangels will turn me away
and my soul will fade to rust like radioactive decay
and for some reason, that’s okay
it’s all okay