Each time you raise your lidshorizons float fuzzy fluid
and when you close them shut
the trickle of the road dries up
inhale, exhale, hold
dreams get quickly cold.
The winds from an exposed placeflay open the planes of a face
a small window in the cheek
shows the movements as each speaks
climb up, climb down, stop
it’s all just idle talk.
So a machine emits poetryas the finger jabs at a key
hardly anything involved
horizons easily dissolved
regroup, recoup, stream
the crusted eyes of dreams.