Encased in a cocoon

like a giant joint

I will soon embrace

the soft smog

surrounding me.

I will get lost.

I will hide.

Close my eyes.

You can’t find me.

I will dream

of my dog chasing a red balloon

on the beach,

of its teasing torments

and the short time

that was spent

before the balloon burst

and the colour was gone.

I will dream

of being



a box in the ground

with only the sound

of some gold bullioned priest

promising peace

as comfort.

I ask you

to come forth and pay

respects, and say to me

what I want to say

to you.


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