...

Somehow the dream last night had a pause button,
every traffic light was stuck
on a yellow like blood
not quite orange or what you squeezed for breakfast
not quite the color of a dress
not really the consistency of rain
or something slicker

last night this morning was fast forward
and after birth came meetings
corporate slag, so many slivers to yank
from your finger tips holding
the bleeding edge of a metaphor
caught in the weather
after something like lunch
the guy crossing the street
you couldn't help but stare at his crotch

the last dream you had post dreaming
filtered with possibilities where coffee
seemed to loose its luster
as the emotional pay cut arrived with a title.