Fever

Lean into this fevered dream.

Try to decipher 

What may be waking moments.

But this is it;

Get settled.

Brace yourself for uncontrollable swaying,

For dull impact,

For the fullness of imaginary sensations.

Painted ladies on a hill

Being snatched and gathered into a crayon box.

And the mist around Alcatraz, 

Just the gracious smoke of laughing gods.

Fear steadily trots, not even close behind.

But you will run and hide 

Always and anyway.

Lovers that you never met

Will tangle your shame in their stride.

The nauseating need to escape 

Will turn your tote into a vehicle,

For you to jump into and run far away. 

Wrestle with the the conundrum 

Of everyone watching what no one sees.

Toss words across the plane of your tongue,

Like ‘insouciant,’

Like ‘spectacle.’

Graze that flat and barren land.

Cultivate what grows there.

Dare to raise buildings and dig trenches.

The people who live and work and hide there,

What do they believe?

Does it matter?

Do they care what others think? 

Before you brush your teeth for bed

And level your city to nought,

Design a chance to slip into tomorrow.

Take the razors under your scalp,

And let your body cry out its misgivings.

Fear is not down the hall.

His hands are 8 blocks away.

And his gold teeth will not bare themselves at you

For at least another day. 

Lean into this fevered dream.

The painted ladies are dancing to their places.

The most of Alcatraz is settling at night.