what really happened in the laundry room when Inoocence 


          tripped for the first time? within three years her


             dreamtrigger began to misfire. then those walls


                 upon which she used to project her horizons


                     began to close in. Imagination lay near


                             the sump pump, limp & coughing.

dreamy william wanted some one to grab his pyjama lapel and slap the sweet shit out of him screaming "wake the fuck up! you're 1000 miles in the air tumbling ass over brains! decide how you want to land!" one only shrugged, pointed starward. i liked to fly in exploration of the distinction between dreams and seems. flap flap. i was a sleepwalker. now i have tremendous optomism for my future, a process of evaporationg love and drugtides receding from the cold silent beach of my social reality leaving delicate conch ensanded under the tranquil moonlight. it is a beach i run along in an extended linear dance splashing through urchinladen tidal pools and smoothed gravel, silky strands of seaweed and bulbous jellyfish pulsing in the gentle breeze. for me this is a sunrise. i'm shaking the sand from my hair, removing it with rotating fingertipes from the encrusted corners of my eyes. once a 90lb weakling, now faster than sand. thius beach is unclean littered with my confused tracks, runes of an ancient confusion deposed, dispelled by certainty. castles dissolve. i'm a kite freed from 1000 strings. erect threads limpen in the fingers of groundbound others, their dismay is my getaway. those eels used to reel me in and feed me speed until i reeled alone. speed is for slow people. i brush by them in the narrow hallway. another door. had enough of mystic ritual. my treasurechest is dumped into the waters, tarblackened brass elbows drawn into the ocean, the abyss. bye bye. no more pitstops, hitstops. i'm a perpetual motion machine wheen freed of such baggage. i've lost my desire to forget. no regrets. the aftertaste of wonder suits me.

here i stand on the starting line watching the pistol smoke dissolve in the air. many runners are gone, i will only find their footprints. others are within reach. most are still lacing. my toe engraves the earth, spooning momentum from the terrestrial rotation, realigning the heavens as i am dustward. thank me. i can whip the toroise. by a hare.

where before i was easily found breathing through your screen door i will not be so easy anymore. try inspecting the sky when its blacker than night illuminated by a thin dusting of light. the stars are not so still. in their motions you will track will. tracing a path through midnight oceans embracing the rush of lost emotions. i could have been forever dependent on you. you didn't want me to. i will always be grateful to you. may i never again desire to.