Somniloquy

Mechanical footsteps
behind ample-community;
Holding social-hands
well mannered and homogeneous,
Like the legs of a kitchen-set
Like the grain in a polished stone;
Feeling as if the warm- vessels
were splintered by clean smiles,
Nothing more harmful than the reminder
we’re but a slapped wrist, or a vague smell.
Christ- the marrow aches for a reflection,
perhaps a face that tells the worth
in exhaustion and nightmare,
or, maybe, a sweetened anesthetic,
that takes us seriously
during our everyday somniloquy.