Last Night

A dream I had recently, about an old flame long snuffed.

last night

last night I dreamt an old dream,
conjured up the ghost
again.
put the blade to the jagged white seam
and pressed.
the wound parted: thick red curtains drawn slowly aside.
I saw the blood and started to panic
but the gush never came,
so I was a little surprised
when I heard the voice.
still, I knew it was you
before I’d even turned around.
young smiles and old habits,
it was always like that –
remember?

awkward words, a half-assed hug
and I see you’re not alone.
“this is so and so, he’s an artist”, you said.
awkward words, a half-assed handshake,
so and so mentioned your illness.
said he’d give a liver to fix it.
I said I wished I could help
and I meant it.
but I needed mine.
and anyways,
I wasn’t worried.
he seemed like a nice ghost,
he’d figure something out.
your lovely face and his lovely drawings
look better together.
I think I even saw a little ghost-child
in the cards you left on the table.

when they drifted off together they took their chains with them,
and I was glad.
it’s hard to sleep
with all that damned racket.