can’t help but feel 
that you still don’t believe me 
when i insist
that i intend
to bend my disappointments
into any shape i please
don’t buy it like you’ve bought your coffee for the day
your half-magic potion 
to spark you through this half-hour slot
before you slink so sensible
before you sink away
into your corporate skyscraper sea
(at least you remembered your briefcase today)

and you’ve managed yet again
to fling the subject of the day
round to your poison prophecies
while you sip your over-priced, status-granting steam 
                                                  (with a little milk in it)
and line your next monologue 
parallel to your clicking tongue

I admire the colors 
of the glass hanging lamps
all melting into chic shells 
round their eletric flame hearts
while you promise me my impending apocalypse
when burnt-orange failure
scarlet heartbreak
tar-black anger
and eventually grey resolution
come to me 
as they do to all 
(each riding their respective horse of course)
            and the moon will turn to whiskey
            pouring down from the sky
            to force itself through my throat
            and ressurect years later as 
            bitter-barbed words of what should have been
            while i struggle to hold up my own head 
            in the nearest dive

but i beg your booze-soaked and cynical masses 
to remember this one thing:

i 
am no ordinary dreamer

                            (and you’ll find those four horses you mentioned
                            tied up beside the lexus in the parking lot

                            they really are quite lovely
                            once you convince them to change their colors
                            and i didn’t feel like driving a car here today)