petals underfoot

My brothers' dreams flow swiftly:
sugaring swiftly through and past
drowning ankles: chattering amongst
themselves, shconspiring, whispering,
whipping into twelve-barred conversations
little parsts of us should never
hear. Lovers and conspirators, the keepers
of secrets buried long within a few centimetres
of crackling paper towers held
gently, gentler than lives ever will.
Racing dogs racing past slumbering minds,
racing to sit still on silvered slivers of alliterations.
The krschickoush of lent-out dreams
waddle past us and we pick on the dreams of our brothers,
togetherly grate upon the iron-schqueek gates
of togetherness and together walk
perfectly paved pavements of petulant petals and cliches.