you know that feeling when you miss place your journal or some such thing, one of your creative repositories, yeah, not good.

i had to go through one of the hardest times of my life to get this poem, and even though it was only temporarily missplaced i was jolted when i found and read it again, god i hate to think if i had lost this, until they invent digital fire i'll just be putting these things here...



there's a little mouse hiding in my top pocket.
and every time I see you he shrinks and hides,
curling up to nibble nervously on a kernal from a sunflower.
he trembles and he draws in closer,
until he feels the beating of my heart,
regular rythym lulling him
to sleep
and with a mouthful of dry seed
he drifts into dream.

in this dream he lives under our couch,
in a house with no taps, where we are together once more.
he watches us come and go,
watches us argue
and make love
and sob into our pillows
til our heads ache.

and when he wakes up he's choking on the dry food in his mouth,

but he listens,
and the calm, steady rythym of my heart lets him know,
that everything is okay.

and as he begins to drift once more he's struck by the thought,
that once,
he did live under a couch,
and he can't remember if the dream

was actually a memory?

but he's too tired


and he can't remember



and he sleeps




and he dreams

and forgets...