your teeth and sleep

Last night I dreamed you called me, came after me under some friendly pretense, saw my face, waited until I turned, came up behind me, touched my shoulder, kissed the part of my cheek right by my mouth and part of the corner of my mouth and then you waited until I turned and kissed you back. With the rest of it.

The rest of the dream was just that. Kissing. It was so nice. I wish I knew how long my dreams last. But if I knew that, I might figure out how long death lasts, how long it takes to die...and I believe this information has been deliberately withheld from me.

For my own good.

And for my own good that I don't know how long we stood there, your arm across my back, my arms mashed into my chest and kissing. We were kissing. I felt like I could die by slipping away into your chest or feeding myself to your mouth. Both looked empty.

I want the time my dreams eat,
my time that is eaten by dreams.
Dreams with their mouths open
kissing my sleep with teeth.

I want the time my dreams eat,
my time that is eaten by dreams
to crawl between your teeth
and sleep.

Receiver

There is a Polish woman openly weeping on the other side of my bathroom wall. I have no idea how to help her. She may even be Lithuanian. Or Russian. One thing for sure: these are European sobs. Another thing: these sobs are coming from a woman. The thing about the phrase "openly weeping"-it implies gushing, floodgates...I imagine the front of the face missing and replaced by a torrential waterfall. A poached elephant, hacked and open. An unpotable, salty, erect wall of water where the face should be. Hands distorted in distress. This is not the first time this has happened.

She weeps with some regularity. Always during the day. Usually sometime around the time I'm waking up...noon. Not that it's strange that someone else should be so emotionally invested in their day already at noon when I am just beginning mine and have no opinion of it outside of the state I've happened to wake up in...mouth dry or aching, leg dragging, hair a nest of angles, stomach hungry or agitated or drunk. Usually there's a prolonged trip to the toilet. Some stupid magazine that gives me my only news. Usually this magazine is heavy on the color pink. Or yellow. Or red. Flashy colors. Flashy stories. They're good. They help with the coma. But the bathroom. This is where I hear her crying. Right on the other side of the shower. And I think sometimes, what if I could just step thorough that tile wall? Like the looking glass what if I could step through the shiny white tile and maybe a layer of mildew and maybe a layer of ants...oh no. Last night I dreamed my apartment was infested with rats. Traps everywhere. Trash and tails. This just came to mind. A layer of rats...a layer of cheap cardboard scrawled over with love promises and vague threats...to her apartment. I materialize on the other side of the wall in her apartment suddenly with my arms out and open like Christ. Startled, the next sob chokes back in her throat. The rest back down. I put my arms around her and she in no longer afraid. She instantly pours out her problems in Russian or Lithuanian or Polish and I nod. I let her squeeze me around the middle and tear at my shoulders with her agitated fingers as she speaks. I let her tears mix with the mildew and the ants and the rats which have already stained my white robe. I do not understand a word but she does not know that. I am a thing that has materialized from her wall and therefore can only be interpreted as magic or an angel. Either one is something she didn't have a few moments ago. Either one could be an answer.

I'm just a receiver. I think that's what people need most. Just something that can materialize and receive their troubles. An instant and miraculous answer.