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Lace<br />
There is lace in my dreams;<br />
Wavy rays of Moonlight and power<br />
and the will to go on;<br />
Yesterday, I broke everything,<br />
prayed over it like an undernourished Shaman,<br />
then put it all back together;<br />
These dreams have shown<br />
that you must ask yourself:<br />
Why<br />
Do I have the wisdom to grow<br />
And the sense to one day die<br />
There’s yellowed fiction in my dreams;<br />
Things that dance down in the heart, they fight<br />
through the blind curves of memories,<br />
twisting<br />
and writhing,<br />
making their way into my bed at night;<br />
I rub the scar on my head;<br />
It’s purple and white<br />
and mean;<br />
There’s the most marvelous beauty<br />
in the dirtiest things.<br />
My hands plow through my hair,<br />
shaking;<br />
There is lace in my dreams.<br />
—Wes Byers<br />
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