Morsels of Dreams?

Fragmented sentences brutally, beautifully, boldly true

Meanings don’t always require tape, adhesive, glue

Hail Woolf, Joyce, prophets few

Freud. Slips of tongue. Dreams. Shoofragmented-dreams

Shoo them away,

You, shoo them away.

Yet mirrors passé, Dreams life’s actual hue

Carefully crafted. Bending phrases. Poetry.

Sue. Sue all poets. Imprison these enchanters.

Sonnets flowing through iron bars.

Cold cemented floors demand inquiring existence

Blooded charcoal answers on stenchy, filthy walls

Hazy manifestations or mildly true?

 

 

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Ben Commonoe

Ben Commonoe

Within the crowd he walked,164175205_9951e05eb6_z

At the adverse scenes he gawked.

Ben was his name, not that it mattered,

He had quite a face too, and people saw it too

And judged him therefore.

He had the opinion congruent

To the one he admired,

After discussions and contradictions

Around tables and bars,

He finally had notions formed,

Through someone else’s eyes afcourse,

Fragile they were, and are,

Ready to be shattered by any new wave of fresh air,

Which he would breathe in

And soak into before going to sleep,

Before cursing the present government,

Before talking about old times

While thinking about tomorrow.