My Dry Eyes

it’s the screen
not the page

the a/c not the ceiling
fan the sun
not the moon

a stage not a cave
it’s a car chase
not an otter
hit by a car

hot flashes not the heat
flash floods won’t help

it’s time
to close my eyes
while another storm passes

dreams not a looking
glass somehow become
the Jersey Shore
sound not sights

going in reverse circles
accordian not fiddle

carousel calliope
not steam locomotive
the PATH not the Tube

or the T

oh, what a night,
mid-June 1991 not
late December 1963

that rollin’ ball
was really a dose
of thunder

it seemed so right but
goes terribly wrong
I rub my eyes

as light smudges
the window pane
and the train stops

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