The Brown Empty Bottle

That brown empty bottle, in the hands of many hysterical woman, to pull back and forth, teasing the sun. They are still my friends as they try, both to help the moon stay in comfort while both eyes watch me sleep: Out cold in a warm mossy dune the likes of which, forever never was, looking up, between out across into. As most fall weeping over a large forest of deep woods that can be made into more flag poles. The smart woman, you are dreaming about, having both dreamt of filling, all the empty bottles, long held, before the rest of them, have come back, against from.