Out of Our Minds in Our Minds
I disapprove the dreams I have in bed.
I can’t control them. They are like a drug
Injected in my brain. They’re colored dread
And silliness all tangled in a fug.
I cannot like my daydreams. They are far
Too stupid, colored happiness and gold.
My daydreams are a brimming, gladsome jar
Of heroin and pink cocaine. They hold
Back nothing and are false as titties on
A first time transvestite. There are the dreams
That novels, Hollywood, and comics drawn
For kiddies offer. They are like those creams
That women buy to make them forever
Young, promises that do not work, never.