Pipe Dream

I was a slave in Samarkand in my dream until you set me
free, I walked from there to Bukhara beneath driving
rain and snow, the black crows mocked at me
from the bare branches of dead trees
and from that impossible scene
I awoke with one loud
I am wino
in suburb burp
lying homeless on
the sidewalk amidst
the empty soda bottles
and candy wrappers watching
tattooed Goth punks passing by me
aimlessly as if I am not here while fire ants
have come to investigate if I am edible indeed

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