too many eyes

I dream a dance with my pen,
I dream I never found a place to rest,
I wake up again, with my hands full of sand,
And it seems the hour glass broke years ago,
I lost track of each dancing droplet of overloaded fingernail hopes,

I dream I turn up the volume on the medicine chest,
The porous vehicle of tears, gears, hooves, wheels and wings,
Hook my pulse up to the hydra fluent synapse spool to hear the sound of the mythical carriage,

I dream of slow sweeping moon trains where my birthright is still safe, and my feet are in the backseat on a pink cloud,
What would I call it tonight?
If it all came true,
If the ringing in my ears revealed the height of the heart beats,
If the roots of the dragons’ teeth came through my eyes,
If the wind came through my knees,
And the trans fur, opened them all wider,
I wake with cave shawl reverberating in an empty hand,

What would it be if I gave back the serpents head and it sang my name?
And we could speak each others language,
Equals in hiding,
Would it be a moment of crime?
I dream the sponge mongrel cat filter,
Uncle Novus Moth and the maternal maiden breath
Perfect strangers, in the absolute everywhere like space dust,
I dream in prayers and blessings,
watching the suppers end,
where subtle light windows blow into a land of worm skin residue,
I wake and shake and drool,
reaching into the transparent quarter of spring,
as empty and far as premonitions that turn to dust,
I walk into the everglades and the grand piano sings to me alone,
To hear winters open source of a drowning exhale,
Do I hear the roots of daisies waiting, ongoing, unfolding?
Will I see the red house dance again?
In trans fur,
Venus keeper
Wispy browed,
Indie gone,
Roots of waiting and my responses begin,
16

I dream I made the lighthouse turn under my birds head rising in chains,
I wake to fences of misrepresentations in chorus,
Where all my triggers unleash their madness,
Do I dream of winding or unwinding tonight?
In between begging raw applications for the purest blood straight from the wounded heart,
Still beating in the chest with rumours of surrogates and suffragettes,
Orphans and princesses, perfect strangers,
The absolute bottled them together forever,
With back alley promises and bullet proof faces,
Blood carriers who lost their sense of where to put their money down,
Achilles heels outstretched and oversourced,
All unified as a perfect mass of messengers,
Perfect strangers passing the fleeting flame around,
Static charges of satellite circuitry,
In the trans fur,
Of seeping trances,
A bell of circles burning in the skies of dandelion aura,
A little pocket of cross currents, feverish whispers from a wishful climate, worshipping a private oblivion,
Wispy browed, one eye over the horizon,
Mongrel filter flinches for answers,
Nothing stands out in the ocean of my decaffeinated ancestors,