A Morning Like Every Morning

Drawbridge span
the garbage stream currents
of the ship canal.
My eyes are littered
with reeking tears.
This is a dream.
A dream that returns
every morning
to yoke the dreamer
to the unleaded air.
A dream that returns
to shove its ashtray
tongue into
the ground glass throat
of my heart.
A morning like
every morning
of a dream that
shoves my unblinking
face into the landfill floor.
I migrate
down the pigeon shit sidewalk
past the malt liquor zombies
spitting grey mucous at the
yellow morning sun.
I migrate
to a Constantinople
of dead steel filing cabinets.
I migrate
so that I can do my part
in this dream
and help make
more rivers of garbage
to parade down
the storm drain
into my life's
dying canal.