at work i stand

with my mouth at the hose

of someone else’s money

and plain dream, so often

it’s hard to feel worthy

of safe passage.

so many goddamn bags.

and no one seems to mind

that the long hall of consciousness

makes room for shit like hot dogs.

and then someone hides a hot dog

in a lampshade and it’s amazing

and not hard to believe this

trash dimension is the same

dimension where we pulled up grass

in your yard. it was sunny.

we were looking for my glasses.

they weren’t even real glasses.

i wore them because sometimes it is

hard to feel worthy of safe passage,

and you shook so much light

into my head.