Dreams

If I could dance the Samba with a Mamba should I choose
black or green or perhaps take turns with something
in between like the Naja naja of the night
of dreams when demon lovers come
looking for me but I’m not home
for I am running on the beach
under a full moon too big
for words looking for
where I left my
heart
beneath
some sea shell
washed ashore
along with my bottle and
its note after that giant storm
that left me without a rudder in
my bateau ivre with my friend Rimbaud
not Rambo now scrambo and leave me alone
with my house of cards and aspirations past the stars

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