last night

last night was the time when my head was full of dreams that might have in truth been real.
the dream was a warm whistle and it enslaved me, and it enslaved me and it reminded me of a soggy sock and a sticky rag, but i didn't think that that was the end, because usually in dreams i am falling at the end, and i am falling into my body and it tastes like cherries, which is strange because i haven't eaten a cherry since i was ten, and life was sweet, like a cherry or a blood spot.

in the morning, i think to myself, that i will ride a bike across the lawn, and then maybe i will be able to sing along with the words that never really registered to me, but the melody was nice and so i loved every minute of it. it was like a heart attack, i would later think, in the morning that had not come yet. it was like a blue lagoon where i spotted the blonde top of a woman who never trusted me, of a woman who appears in the background of every one of my thoughts. but sometimes i mistake her for a dream that i never had, and so instead of living like a rotten egg, i sit up and let my pounding heart stare at the wall until it can catch its breath, and i can catch my breath and we can all see the end of the story coming, only its less strategic than you would think.

the you is metaphorical, this in turn leads to the horrible night when no one ever showed up and i was in that pink party dress and i waved my hands and i let the yellow light drink me up like i was the nile, and the skin was the nile, and the impressions that we all left on each other were the ones that would matter, and this is why the night was stinking of sex and sin and oily bodies that never seemed to stop seizing, and i was like a hurricane but my name is not new orleans of frank or anything stupid like that, and i killed more people than the surrounding wars, and then i kicked my way into a prison and let all the prisoners go, where im sure they would still be if it weren't for the narrow arrows that shot us all down from some kind of cliff or ledge.

i did not see the shooter, i did not see the the whip us into the sky, or the motorboat whir its wheels and i am so bored of this tangent that i am awaken with a shout and a hug and i missed the exit and i lied ota girl who was actually really nice to me even though she pretended that we were in love when we first met, but i never thought that it was ok, because i dont believe in love at first sight. except for that one time when everything was still and it wasn't even really like a first sight but a first smell, or taste of a first world rocking and then the night ended and all i had was in my mouth was a nervous laugh and a cotton candy piece of tar gum.