The Wake

They make me what I am. A mermaid with wings,
Or the days of the week in colors and patterns
That help to create my interpretation of time.

When I sleep I always wake up wondering
If I have the day off, or if I slept through my alarm clock.
It sounds like a train halting at intervals on a blackboard.

Months are calendars without numbers that stretch to the horizon;
December is always the farthest away, even when we catch it.
I want to have cereal and coffee for breakfast,
Even though the word breakfast brings toast to mind.

You know how when you close your eyes,
you see pink and yellow?
Or is it really pink and yellow?
It could be blue to someone else.

A parking spot has it’s own texture-
Like a flavorless marshmallow that could still taste good,
If you make yourself believe it.

If I could be anything, I would be a dandelion,
Because I would have no boundaries.
There would be no realities telling me
what I could achieve, or where I could go.

I could tour the ocean, and then the sky,
And emerge through transparent, cotton clouds.
I could fly away from life into a make-believe world
Where everything is eternally beautiful,
And things always end where the road eats the sun
At the end of every day.