Fatal flaws
congeal
at the surface of mundane
At the tedium,
regular tasks
keep shoving me along
In the corner
the stack grows taller
Clothes tossed
tall enough to make a bed,
my cat thought
Crumpled people
make soft places to land
To hear the words
they say
we are supposed to hear
Cannot bring the dream
any nearer
Just to hear the words
proves their meaning,
some may say
When too afraid
to question
I would rather take their meaning shown,
over words in endless dreaming grown