A dream in which many links were not made that should have been. Also, the sentences were incomplete, especially the ones that mentioned God. I woke up knowing that you see the world differently than I do and for a moment I saw it that way too. It was like a mountain rising through clouds in an old painting by someone with a disciplined Zen practice. No flowers, not at all.
And no you either though you were there. Waking early at 5 a.m., tasting last night's wine and boiling coffee while the dog pisses on leggy dandelions. Milk, sugar, the broken ceramic mug I bought three years ago when Jeremiah was still a baby. The word "kick" has always made me think of frogs, one of which dove off a small birm last night into a pool of standing water. The word standing makes me think of lawyers sharing a cigarette behind a Vermont county courthouse.
Needing to be somewhere is a sickness. I'm tired of the Jesus that resembles me and tired too of pretending that I've made meaningful contact with him. Since I met you the word alien has a whole new meaning. He pointed out the walls he built, the ones of stone, and how each one was an improvement on the last. I guess we get better but to what end?
What about your dreams, including the ones with Granny Smith apples bunched together in a refrigerator? Coffee and poetry - one always ends before the other. I asked for help - I meant it sincerely - and all I got was a dream in which my life resembled a poorly managed website. Yet I know that if you see your life as a problem to which only one solution will do then you have effectively blocked God. Maybe you are the environment in which this writing becomes possible.
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