These aren’t ancient texts
they’re cries for help
Pity Ezekiel, unsure if his dreams
were prophecies or just dreams
Pity Hosea, who knew they were real
and went along with it anyway
I never scream my sadness
as real as I feel it, but here’s
what I look like
x-rayed naked:
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skinny-fat, easy to beat up,
you can see exactly where to punch
On the full moon you can find my secrets
in any box of cereal, even the cheap ones
I wish for something as concrete as dreams
to stand on, or at least
to land on.
