45*21

the wicked appear as little kids
in this dream they like to torture
have torture room
we, my friend john & i pretend to like it
but it is beyond morbid
I wake and cast the cobwebs from my eyes
out the window, most incredible amount of snow
I come unglued again
cast my ship on the sea of snow
in there somewhere, a secret railway
there is all this hanging out to do
online & people following new patterns
watch old shows
there is a plastic powder blue-
ness about my new smile
the fruit looked unreal but was real
the candy, though, it was hard to tell
so she drifted away sighting us as bad kids
willing to do things not so kind
but never was this truer than before
and alienated I feel like a lone sock