The Ugly Moorings

I.
Let’s talk about how I find each city
to be a bivouac for harried souls.
Let’s flip over my desk for even thinking it.
Let’s spook the repertoire of my fist
into collapsing on itself.

II.
Dreams are a good excuse
for skipping work and for song,
but really they’re just apologies
for reality’s post-Romantic stress.

III.
In a dream I keep having, I’m yelling “fire!”
to the theater audience, who is me,
who is alone, and I can’t help but feel
my panic is lacking nuance.
I yell at myself all the time
for defamiliarizing myself
from every objection
keeping the soul in eddy.

IV.
I have another dream
where the city scares me,
where everything is just so damn tall
and light takes a pit crew to blink.
I am every bride in the world,
veiled in revolt between exotic
and erotic, and I blush;
there are too many windows here
and everyone can see me before
the bang and swoon of waking.

-C.S. Henderson