When dawn breaks and you’re floating in your bed
On intermittent dreams and wakefulness,
You can’t seem to keep pillow under head;
Instead, billowing waves and octopus
Transport you to a subterranean place
All shadowy, the pale light flickering,
Where they show movies shot behind your face
Which naturally you enjoy watching.
Maybe one day we’ll all be directing
These dreams, recording and replaying. There’d
Be no need for reality, unless
You’re strong enough to prefer it. We’d sing
Of God’s love and the life to come, but dead
Are those hopes in the modern age, I guess.
Fri 14 Dec 2007
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