When everything is lonely, I can be my own best friend.
I’ll get a coffee and the paper, have my own conversations with the sidewalk, the pigeons, and my window reflection.
The mask I polish in the evening by the morning looks like shit.
When I close my eyes I don’t see darkness
My eyes don’t blindly meet moist pink blankets,
They roll back in their sockets
To feast on a dream,
Which sometimes can be tasty
In that murmuring silence
Where sleeping dogs lie,
Shy shadows shiver within shared shrouds
A flock of mute blackbirds hang suspended on the dawn
Leaving a trail of reverie,
Of minuet pianissimos,
Strung between feather yawns
“And that has made all the difference.”