gray, wheel-eyed cow

maybe tomorrow I’ll meet the man of my dreams.

a rose sits downtown alone. its dreams
resurface every few minutes,
caressing its browning petals. it
attempts to water itself with dreams,
real life wilting into an insane obscurity.

each undulation of silence speaks painful
not-fairnesses of pink toenails.
an eternity couldn’t erase the indentations in the carpet. i’m
still young and free but i’ve forgotten my keys