without walls

Her eyes carry clouds delicately through the night.
At seven it begins to shower.
Rain trembles out, dangerously defeated, dampening
the exterior decoration of her face.
Snow falls from the ceiling.
Landing on her lashes
And slowly
Licking the corners of her eyes

She is wearing winter’s weather.
Cold blood frozen under her crystalline skin
Looks like rubies contained in a glass case
The vein’s body is frozen with ruby blood
(easily breakable).

She shakes erratically
A dance of deep carnal grooves.
- in motion -
The curtains rise but
the film of her eyes stops playing.
She no longer feels herself
watching her dream
And this, this, wakes her.

Waking drugged by dream,
she dreams she wakes from dreaming.

Her mooneyes give no glow
because they sink in
deep pools of depleted dreams.
Dreamless, sleep dies and she is born anew.

Her sheets are wet and wishful.
Her body must have melted and left
Remainders of tissue as reminders.
Which reminds her to remember that he said,

Proceed from the dream outward.

The clouds rained.
The ceiling snowed.

Somewhere someone said,

Start from the state you are in
and proceed further.

Her face is wrinkled with age,
(She has grown sad)
And is wet from tears.
It did not rain. It never snows.

Beneath where her head sleeps,
she reaches for her pillow book but
Writing nothing shows.

The fearful room turns black to hide.
No one can see her, colorless.
She sees she does not exist.
She reaches for the walls, trying to walk the walls and corner a light that will show a mirror that will reflect her standing self
if she exists.

Nothing. No one.

“There are no walls. There are no walls.”
There are no walls here to enclose her body.
Reaching to her left,
Trying to touch what separates her from
The Other Side.
She falls through the air.
The only thing to catch her is
whatever lies beneath.
(Beneath her dream)

She watches herself saying,
“There are no walls. I feel like I am sitting in the middle of the world. I don’t know if I have come a long way or have more to go. The poet is a lover. Trying to write in the middle of the world a description of an intangible state of dream. Forgetting how it started and how it will end, the poet becomes trapped inside a confusing world of words, trying to make sense of the dream. I want to run forever, shaking myself sober from drugged dreams. But it is dark. And there are no walls and I don’t know if I have already run a long way or still have more to go.”

Silent, she was speaking in sleep.
Only kissing air.
Writing, she never materialized words.
She didn’t want to risk awaking
from the dream she was safely sleeping in.

One should always be drunk with sleep
To avoid seeing the multiple dimensions
of reality.