.
The lingering feeling
of a dream awake,
and I
am not yet myself.
A sentence uncomposed,
still lost in a shadow,
fit between true dark
and the space
that is only absence.
.
Conversations mimic reality,
history and contingency.
The narrow rabbit warren
that is my childhood home,
an old hotel,
a shopping mall,
an open field,
feel dressed up
like a Hollywood soundstage.
.
Whatever this is;
wherever,
or whenever this is,
I have been returning here,
night after night,
for my whole life.
.
Shake the world awake,
and consciousness
rises like a flower to the Sun.
It is cooling now,
an only day lilies
remain in my garden.
Dream blossoms.
Real survivors.
.
Open eyes give way
to this side
of whatever this thing is,
and on this side,
I must be ready.
.
The mists of merciful amnesia
slowly claim the place
that I escaped from
only minutes before.
The night time city;
maybe my hometown.
.
I guess I’ll find out
one day,
which world is real,
and which is the dream,
but not today.
No,
not today.
.
.
HG – 2020
