poem dream salad

it's all so conditional.
insulate me against the lack
with off-brand american cheese singles
and enough library books to build a mausoleum.

the future is holding me blindfolded, skewered on the arrow of time.
replace my parrot-feathered drumstick legs with paperclip twists.

my dreaming is a maze of contracts and examinations
which i retrace, not without pleasure.
perhaps, at heart, it's clear these tests are ephemeral,
as dreaming as can be,
and not the greased slipping of time
not the love that recedes like shadows
as the earth piles up
not the wilting melting salad-leaves that grow pink
with despair, and soft cubed beets.
agh, insipid food for a timid individual.

oh, life,
what a mystery:
we are such a subtle weight
we are translucent skins
we are so filled with divine love.
take me someplace i can see the light and smell the air
and feel you there beside me-
i'm afraid that all is lost.