Dreamland

It was—5am—in my head  

                                                                                                                              and I was lost

no destination,

no idea

of where I was;

nostalgia of a place that kept changing

until it went back to where I remember it all

                                                      starting.

Where are you from?

                                                                                    I’ve never had a home…

                                                                                    I’m from every place that I’ve stayed

                                                                                   and then moved on.

Red and green crocodiles waiting by the dirty pond

they don’t follow me back to the bathtub

they’ve already had their chance to spill my blood

and drag me down to their brackish waters

from where I can be reborn

                                                              again.

This time I travelled by the trains and the buses and then the metal trunks,

stuck in the doorway—not inside, not outside; I’m nowhere but I’m stuck

where I am

This time it was death by the     small–space     phobia in a cardboard box

Puzzle pieces made of rock keys that never quite fit the lock

                   lead to this last prison, a cave with a light beam of hope

How fickle is glass when it’s dark

                                                        outside?

Showing you the world but showing you—you

showing the spirits ridden in chains

materialize at the end

                                   of my bed every night

and so when it’s raining

                                      death

                                                upon us,

I recite our favourite poems.