Horseshit

dreams moved under the veil of sleep

shoveled to the side like horse manure

still steaming with jumbled content.

your eyelids betray the movement of your eyes.

I lay beside you

one morning when it was too cold to

crawl out of bed.

I will lie beside you.

Am I lying beside you?

I will never lie beside you again.

I never did lie beside you.

The mornings are always too cold to

crawl out of bed.

I used to shovel horseshit all the time.

I still am shoveling horseshit dreams

filtering out the hay bedding

and dumping everything into a wheelbarrow

which goes outside

to the huge collected pile of shit

and after it cools and hardens

we load that horseshit into a truck

and dump it somewhere else.

The beauty of it is that nothing ever ceases to exist.

Riding to Dinner

When in doubt,

take the most direct route.

So I ride my bike up Greeley

in complete city darkness,

hell hounds nipping at my heels

until my legs catch fire.

At the top of the hill,

I pass a lonely figure

and catch a whiff of smoke

as I hide in patches of shadow

between streetlights.

Later, in the middle of nowhere,

the mist slaps me in the nose

with a beer-soaked rag.

The final stretch is silent

as I round the corner,

through scents of old oil

and machine parts.

I long for the smells of home.

Inside the building,

I walk my bike

through a corridor of dinnertime.

My mouth waters at #5,

the apartment of bacon.

Next door, the home of saffron,

rice, and chicken.

My own apartment door

smells of tomato sauce,

and when I enter,

still sweaty from the ride,

oregano, basil, and garlic

are there waiting for me.