Like morning's, broken wishes
wake us from our dreams
where sidewalk superstitions
relieve the need to free
fixed in captive pauses
from a crooked dorsal fin
but, pillow thoughts deflect this
Utopic* dream we're in.
Hope is not a rain drop
A flood can't wash away
the prints of lost desire
down rivers in one day
the lobby is a mattress
in a dark & vacant home
where mornings never take us
from our idealistic thrones.