idle incognito
rifling closets and clothes hampers
looking for colorful oxfords
tumultuous
and crying with one hand on the bottle
and one foot on the brass rail
(but don’t interpret)
in dream
childhoods bedroom
reading
each written line in each book touched, screaming
magazines screaming, wallpaper screaming
I’m screaming, bloody and wasted
(this is no way to conduct a dream)
I follow her into bathroom, now a party,
we kiss grab ass and I’m hard
when I awake temporarily and tremble
step outside for nicotine relief
refusing to return to same dream
wearing no underwear, underwater
(accept drowning as part parcel)
sweating,
dark,
naked,
sheets, pillow soaked
– awake
retreating to thought and space
(!)
the platitudes of willful resemblance 
say something