at work i stand
with my mouth at the hose
of someone else’s money
and plain dream, so often
it’s hard to feel worthy
of safe passage.
so many goddamn bags.
and no one seems to mind
that the long hall of consciousness
makes room for shit like hot dogs.
and then someone hides a hot dog
in a lampshade and it’s amazing
and not hard to believe this
trash dimension is the same
dimension where we pulled up grass
in your yard. it was sunny.
we were looking for my glasses.
they weren’t even real glasses.
i wore them because sometimes it is
hard to feel worthy of safe passage,
and you shook so much light
into my head.