We met

And I get you

You got me

Then what did us in?

You are ruled by your hands

The buzzing of fiddle strings

The healing of minor dings and pings

The writing of songs

And the curse of touching hands

Suddenly knowing when life will be gone

You used your voice wrong

Saying no more songs

Until I apologize

For what?

Inappropriate laughter?

I’m sick of saying

Read about autism


I’m me

And I leave


The thunder did rumble

I felt myself stumble

Come back, you mumble

No way, I grumble

Apology from you a fumble

I want out so I tumble

A somersault across the border of Newlife


Finding myself in my dream house

Not “dream” house like

Someday I will live in a

Cape Cod on the beach

But DREAM house

Where you sleep deep

Finding yourself in a

Confused crap world

In a long low dark house

With endless corridors

Walls with bathroom ceramic tile

Or wallpaper from a Victorian horror

Finding myself in childhood South Philly

No houses like that there


The walls are on fire

Like some ancient funeral pyre

I run to a door sealed with barbed wire

Desperate to run higher

I find what I require

Stone steps a pacifier

And new scenes begin


But the house grows like

The book House of Leaves

And I suspect the need for

Camping gear and

Climbing ropes and

Pitons before the first ten hours

Of the march through the

Hallway to hell


How to escape from this dream?

First I try a Hollywood horror scream

Turns out it’s a really bad scheme

My words turn into steam

Heating then freezing my bloodstream

Oh, for a shot of morphine


Reverse the rhyme

I tell my sleeping self

Only one thing to end the curse

Do the inverse

Tumble in reverse…


(Actual dream, sorry to say)

 © 2021 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: Nighttime singing