Wednesday, October 17, 2018

The Junkie in My Dream

Their shadows in the sun sway like spirits chafing.
It will seem so natural to them
To float away from their bodies,
And so funny to discover
There were no words that led to the truth here,
And easier still for them to let
All that seemed important go forever.

That face in the mirror with the dead eyes and pallor
Disappears after you've stared enough to make him real
And he turns like worm to butterfly into another saint to free,
And you lose interest soon enough
In the dull colors of this imagined world,
Its sculptures in the yard must give way always
To the light that looks at them as from above.