June 18th, 2012
Into a dream
of lilac, jasmine, and summer rain
he fled,
often dreading the return.
It seemed that anywhere
he’d tread he’d remind himself
where he’d rather be;
the sweat that pooled by his cuffs,
the fresh flowers cut by the head
set beside his bed,
the clouds bursting sunshine
lurking tirelessly overhead.
His white collar hung carefully,
wrinkled and wretched with woe.
His jacket draped over his
shoulders like a black wool curtain
to reality.
Though all he donned and
all he did worked against
the pace of his head,
he could still, always
find a moment to
spare a dollar or more
for a dream to die for;
a dream of some place
better than here.
