Thursday, January 14, 2010

I Yawned with My Mouth Closed

I found myself on top of a building
my toes half-buried in soft gravel
that felt like a shag carpet
the moon made faces at me
and the clouds tasted like
dark mountains

I felt my feet take me
like they knew where
I should end up
the wind felt beautiful
against my cheeks
as I fell
a cool breath of hookah smoke
blown through a light bulb filament

even halfway down
I hoped to land in a hot air balloon
and sail away to some
far-off island where everything smelled
like pineapples
instead of splattering my bones and muscles
into gutters and fire hydrants

but I woke up
and wished that I was back in a
Chicago hotel

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