I can’t tell time from the melting clocks I see in my
dreams, even though somewhere in the midst of it, I wait for the alarm to stir
me out of sleep, this altered landscape, too unreal to be the place you seek as
home, the foot of the rainbow where legend says a treasure hides, each of us
still homesick for a home that long ago ceased to exist, we still consumed even
when we know it’s not there, the end of another adventure going from what even
Lola Wants to clicking your heals of your ruby slippers in an effort to reach a
Kansas you never knew in the first place, the melting clocks, the hurried hare’s
pocket watch, reading out a time in which you know you’re already late, all the
king’s horses and all the king’s men unable to reassemble a life that can’t be
put back together again, at least not in the same way. You must start a new
life with the hope it will end differently.
I hear the ticking in my head as I sleep, uncertain if it
can be trusted, what is real or not, though even this deep in the dream I know
I miss you wherever you are and wherever fate takes you, knowing I cannot
follow.
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