Dust

My heart shimmered into a thousand pieces
and sparkled like the sun
to hear talk that there were monsters
prowling through the diversity
of a million diferent dreams.
A pox upon your living room
where the dying dream to breathe,
but there's no room for nothing there,
and there's no room for me.
Stillness breaches the reprehensible,
penetrated by bold-face lying grins
that glimmer yellow in the moonlight
and taste of candy cigarettes.
Asphyxiate on your dreams
and your apnea is cured,
but you forget the thousand promises
you never lived to tell,
and they disappear through the layers of
a story book that lives in a monody of dust.