And This Is Why

Dreams graze on ghosts

and have since wind

became breath.

 

Over burned matter

brought fertile again

future’s erected

ghosts beneath.

 

Sleep is for haunting.

Desire is terror’s

idle hands.

 

Verge joining

dreamy teeth

to phantasmal grassy tips

 

Connective tissue

of sleep

and specter

 

Give muscle memory and aftertaste

of work

storing its grievances

in shoulders.

 

As beds are of no relief,

repose

only lets re-enter

the gone

and forlorn

 

tasked to give sensibility

to pain.

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