To rub blindly up against the rough bark of a dream and laugh
at the furrowed trunk of growth and the rings
of years sustained amidst the pains of sins
pulling so hard on those reigns of belief, chaffed with will
power, your muscle of dreaming still
holds fast
without fail
without steering you
wrong
Maybe the chains of life's confinements
are glass and foil.
My dagger dreams come sharp
committed, mapped
like yours do
not trapped - they are wild, enraptured
entranced.
In this life we need guts
and sass
to run towards those mirrors of glass: they are lies
and trash. Run buffered by animal tallow and run
fierce
like Buffalo. Pierce
the shadows of crumpled foil and run
wild with dreams of your own
Recklessly owning your
own vision.
