Things I want to be
The thrill of sudden expectations
the gory pain at night
Crawls into me
and in its slumber it weeps for a touch from long ago
buried deep inside my rugged ivory
How I wonder if sleeplessness
can be cured by pure destruction
and if death is but a word
If men became the women
and if women became themselves
If I could sleep, if I could dream
I would dream of rain and pretty birds
and glimmering silver stones.
Of all the things I wish to be
a dove, a pigeon tops it all
The swooping wings of angels near
second, you hear me.
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