i suppose bukowski was right
and no one is brilliant at 7am
but this day job is killing me
with only a quick shower
and not enough coffee
giving me the bums rush
out the door
no chance to collect my thoughts
but before I go I will recall
in the dream I saw gardens
and statues without faces
rough uncut and inanimate,
signposts of some not so distant future
telling me I was late again
with friends I didn’t know
in tow, we ran
and men with guns came
to steal what little we had
they failed, but
we were lost and foreign
wrong turn down a one way street
and it was all so short and confusing
who were these people
do we ever really know our friends
somehow this feels unfinished
like the dreams i had
when i was a child
i hear a symphony in the distance
the old times are upon us once more
and i’ve decided again to carry
my gun