The Dream Verse

a prose poem

Joy rumbles like thunder Off my skin Through my veins and capillaries My air passages And all that makes me alive

The old me is on the floor Crumpled in a ball Like discarded newspaper Like a used napkin with something red And it’s not clear if it is…

It’s going to be beautiful once you build it packed moist sand you mold like clay

You called yourself a “friend.” then proceeded to trample over our house pee in the parlor rip down the curtains toss paintings off the…

Is it because we are scared that we’re not any good?

I don’t remember how it got so bad

How running keeps me sane

Reflecting on the benefits of solitude.