Quadrangle 68 poetry

Jalisco Composition #1
Dylan Huston
          Dreams lend themselves
to my mind’s stove,
          are cooked, burned and charred.
 
          Their ashen remains
fall like flakes,
          A snow colder than the winter.
 
          My nose is stung,
and in my pain,
          I forgot how bad I hurt.
 
          The simple agony as fingers
claw their way
          along my thigh, complacently
like a dewdrop
          working his way
into bitter leaves
          racing against the
abduction of the morning sun.
 
          And the little
home I built
          Along the misty lake in my mind,
Is washed away forever.
 
          And though my dreams try to live,
they drown.
         And though I try to drown,
I live.