Here’s the Rub

This endless dream invades the night
Between the bouts of plugged sinus tissue
& the frequent urinations as I age ever
So gracefully and shaking off the piss
I crawl back in the bed, holding close
My wife and circling through the mental
Landscape into the many houses I
Have passed through in my dreams
The Rooms like idealogues impressing
Their nature on my current sensuality
Inevitably there is a ceiling leaking and
Peeling there are walls in faded wallpaper
With small chunks distracting me their
Inobvious decay a minor chord in this
Roundelay. I am, I think, searching, for
Something or someone or what I was
Supposed to know by now. The Secret?
The rationale? The key to the locked
Door, somewhere in an old house is
This west Hollywood? Or Spokane?
Or did this real estate create its own
Illusive peninsula of dirt or flesh,
Somewhere that cannot be tuned
In by Mapquest? I only know that
Every night there is another room
Another house another broken chair
Or remade parlor and someone always
In the next room, laughing at something
I cannot hear. Or that the sweet air
I breath is my wife’s own soul, as she
Dreams her own extraordinary landscape
Much stranger than my own.