Damn of Consciousness

Meeting Isak in the Dark

I had a farm
in Iowa
at the foot of the disconsolate hills

I had a body
taken by insects
in a dream
bathed itself in murky waters

I had a piano
in a room
at the foot of the black pastures
it sang to me at night

my fingers could never reach
far enough
in a dream
I traveled to the end
of the road
folded into the sunset
a shelf
of books

I had a basement
in Iowa
in a dream

I had a lover
in a room
of cloth and cinderblocks
taken by poverty
in a bar
bathed in liquored sweat
in the doorway of a car

I had a cross-country highway
at the foot of a withering day
taken by wakefulness
becoming too bright
taken by a needle
in a dream

I had an apartment
in New York
city of insomniatic mirrors
coming too close.