Not Quite Like Peter Pan for the POETRY Foundation

I have become
obsessed with insomnia
watching the ideal fantasy
of flying over the white space
of paper love
paper doll puppets
lip-locking love
playing word Russian Roulette
in the field of mind,
or is it mind-fields? at 2 A.M.

I slouch onto this back
made from the bones of syllables
breaking for breaths of vowels
to watch the wind of words
take flight from my mouth
nose dive into
Beach City bars
breaking bread
with poets, artists, and lovers
the super-heros of my tomorrow
as my tongue twists
tasting flavors of words
that climb
climb into the ears of minds
of this generation grounded
climb through
lines of book-lined shelves
and if I just wonder
how high can they climb
they will reach the mind
they will serenade hope
while you sleep
caress your back
with a gentle whisper
when you feel
a slight tremor
hung over in the morning
you come hard
to the stone cold winter of content
sober enough to swallow
liquid truth serum
that this is not just a dream.