I arrange meetings in dreams.
You’ll find yourself tonight
In a strange, fog-bound city
Taking small, apprehensive steps.
Who do you want waiting for you
In the next dark doorway?
Your old high school sweetheart?
The wives of your dear friends?
No. You’d like to meet sublimity
Itself. Queen Perfection.
Who’ll let you feel her purse,
Nail clippings with occult powers,
A red flaming wig on top of my head,
Let’s see what I can do for you
With my helpers and confidants?
The fog’s thickening around you,
Handsome. Stick your hands in pockets,
Whistle something carefree.
Go, but do not touch ground.