I found you in a song the other day
And you’ve been stuck in my head ever since.
You hide in faceless laughs and sideways glances,
An illusion in the corner of my eye.
I think I see a flicker of familiar and then
You’re gone, lingering as a distant relic
Or existing in only two dimensions –
Frozen in photographs
Where I don’t quite look like me.
I’m told I was conjured from a flickering light,
Or dancing phosphenes –
Dots of red and blue and green
Arranging to become me.
But I don’t remember it any more than
A child remembers being born.
Then again, I don’t remember life at all.
With you there are no daydreams
Or holding on to night dreams.
You are all my dreams in one.
A pocket dream in the coat of reality,
A door opened to a world bigger on the inside with
Life chaotically everywhere,
But in here it is still and only ever now.
A forty minute bumpy ride, with engine rumbles disrupting the air that I hear but don’t listen to and even the voices that fill my diminishing personal space are just white noise in my quiet. Somehow I’d forgotten how to lose myself in thought. I’d forgotten what escape was. I’d forgotten that this time was…
Trees watch those who feel midnight on their wings silhouetted against dust and perilous dreams- walking through drearily sweeping loneliness. Moonbeams purple in windows and eyes, sweet lilac wonder sings above the sky. Hands bottle every dusty pleasure, forgotten timeless souls, imagination running wild, butterflies settle caught in their mind.
an utterance is the heart’s way of shouting
but it does not rupture the enigma of a liminal space,
I am not waiting on the brink of a question, I am only
listening to a smooth swell of musical crescendo
As murmurs become a gentle nudge to fall out of almost-asleep
and into a dream that fills the night silence, not
with noise, but an explosion of colours
and stories we would never think to tell,
infused with (only-imagined) sounds.
I walk through a dream (or maybe they’re memories)
Only to find hidden bodies, bedraggled leftovers,
Severed heads with brains extracted, skins shed and discarded,
They all wear the same face that haunts my reflection.
I watch them closely, the night people,
There’s not much else to see as the world is asleep.
They are remarkably awake for the non nocturnal,
Maybe they’re nocturnal at heart.
I watch them as they dance
And as they speak with such a tenderness
As if their words will be remembered…
And they will.