He is speaking in webs and spiders
his prism eyes
view the world in butterflies
trapped up in a sea of phrases
the seagull flaps it's wings and talks back
now only he fights for breath and a bit of ground to stand on
resting his own weary head, he switches directions
and cancels all his plans
just to steal the bread from your hands
the ocean spray
kisses on your skin
as you open up your back porch
and let him in
on your geometric nightmare.

Labels: dream, nightmare, writing