In the hours between
waking and dawn
when my begging bladder
longs for release
come the dreams
that can only
belong to a leper
praying for one chance
at redemption.
Words flow like antifreeze
almost as sweet
with a host of those folks
who in daylight, in real time
would not drop their zippers
if I were in flames.
Sometimes they buy it.
Some mates are stale.
There's always a jolt
when the ruse is discovered--
Waking to radio silence and cereal
for the sixth time this week
along with the blues.
Victories in the world of the conscious
come as the flipside to smaller defeats:
She finally got her single karat
square cut diamond
and one loser claps
from the nosebleed seats.
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