May be any day now willing

we clip our wings on the clouds again. Woah love-a-day-break, taken aback by the brush of suns in the rainslight, lines of hallucinated angels’ haloes showers seem to pass through. If it were a clear thing or there were a right way, I would. put my heart in my actions and not get. cheaply discounted to sleeping again—but partly myself in dreams and do dream. I had this one dream where I’m free in every muscle’s flexure and alone I scream and alone I cry and alone I laugh and alone I sing and from nowhere all these loved ones I’ve never met before yet know so well somehow come walking many-layered from the coldness of the dim empty street-like-an-echo-chamber with blizzard-frosted smiles and embraces like gifts, like being near me makes. them warm and. they’re glad. I had this one dream where I speak with a spork in the abstract trash bag you held up, whose convex. side bore and adorably minimal face, and it wept with my eyes, in earnest confiding about the pain of being. trash in a trash bag. I had either this dream or this dreamlike memory, maybe the first one, where I’m crawling onto the carpet of my mother’s room. and it’s a full-moon wind on a dark slate of blue from out the window that drags. cigarette smoke from the place where her face is a refrain of blankness and eyes red, looking through the television from another world. I have this dream where I’m