It's Not Illium But It Still Feels That Way

I saw in dreams the ruined towers
how people could not breath in the stair well-
well. because the skies, the skies were ashen.

we will be taken out with the trash
we feel while we are at work
kicked out by some jerk that just feels bored.

I look for a tower to live in
even one with no door.
one that time forgot

and landlords.
let us explore the landscape
I say to no one particular

when I sleep and the scroll unwinds.
here you see the blackened trees
the network of branches leaning

against the skies, the ashen skies.
you feel the demise of it all
as though it were your own.

you wake up to one jar of peanut butter left.
how will you sort it all out when you can only sleepwalk
and that's on a good day.

yet you do. looking into golden wells
where you tossed dimes as a child
could they be retrieved

or found in the sofa cushions
the money you spent on candy,
after Easter priced

if only you had it now.

somehow days pass. questions too.
you come to the other side of it
whatever it was

not in a golden ligut yet
but feeling that you could be,
if you tried.

mary angela douglas 6 august 2018