Only Careful Dreams

In the circus of my mind,

there is a posted sign

with inky, curvy lines:

only careful dreams.

A stifling reminder

I must consider, always.

Careful, like tiptoeing over

broken glass, biting your cheek

so the universe

won’t know you’re suffering

or wondering

if clouds are really as feathery

as in your dreams.

Careful.

Tap, tap, tap.

Three times feels best.

How could I crave

deliverance

from these obsessions

that hold me

like a newly-wed who finally

owns everything?

And space doesn’t matter

because we’ve never felt closer,

so close we don’t know

who is who.

Careful.

It’s easy to lose

yourself in fantasies.

Repetition helps

when you can’t tell

what’s real or really

good at pretending to be.

So, it’s better

just to make sure

you won’t catch the

house on fire

by swearing off candles,

or the kitchen stove,

or anything fun

because fun isn’t careful.

Can it be?

Forget everything

you know about dependency.

This special shade of gaslight

will have you questioning

anything that might

happen or already

has, but you can’t be sure

until you check, check, check.

Do you remember

when you dreamt

about that greedy sickness

and then it surfaced

everywhere?

I know it feels awkward

not to catastrophize

or lie on your spine,

but you should at least

cover your eyes

when you sleep

or you might

experience things

that don’t make sense.

Wake up, wake up, wake up.

This isn’t real, or is it?

Careful.

About the circus of my mind,

I won’t claim to know

everything,

but if we unwind

the careful dreams,

and anxieties,

and restless fingers,

we might discover

that the broken glass

was really bubble wrap.

Every circus

needs a clown throwing

pies as much as acrobats,

and if you’re too busy obsessing,

you can forget how to breathe.

In the circus of my mind,

there is a freshly

painted sign:

only careful dreams,

except on Wednesdays.