I Dream of Fluorescent Suns

I dream of fluorescent suns—more than one, with tubes for cores and plastic crusts. This is abundance I speak of. In weak sleep, or or weekend slumber—It doesn't differ— my stand-by brain plays pictures of panel skies—dun, with speckles— as far as the eye can see because of the walls. I wake up in in the afternoon, when the light is done in December. I sit in the lot. I write it down in my journal—"Gratitude." I know I'm not the only one.