Dangerous Dreams #1
I sleep and it rains, always.
Dreams become muddy puddles
along a railway station with no trains.
I stand there, waiting in the glass
rain, shifting the weight
from one foot to the other, thick shoes
stuck to the ground.
The ticket clerk checks the few daisies,
obliterates them: last passengers of Spring.
He has nothing else to do, refuses to validate
my ticket where my fingers have blurred
the destination. In my sleep I am still there, 40 years later,
sitting in a roofless waiting room, white hair
and an empty nest on top. I sleep but pinch
my lips, my nose to wake up. I know
the man will soon come with a sharpened pencil,
will draw a circle, drive it into my right eye.
---------------
I like this poem and the whole idea of the dreamer knowing what's coming and trying to stop it from outside the dream, from the bed.
And I like:
The ticket clerk checks the few daisies,
obliterates them: last passengers of Spring.
Nicely hints at what's to come.
Oh what a frightening dream, with a nasty climax.
Good poem (shudder).
LOL, Shister, I warned you...with the title.
Haunting & full of the authority & senseless violence of the dream. I'm looking forward to more in the series.
Thank you, Dick. How are things going?
Surreal--as dreams must be. The last line is as good as the first, and they're both terrific.
Thanks, Carol:-)
Thanks, Rob. Writing a new series called, in fact, Dangerous Dreams. We'll see what comes from it:-)