I Had A Weary Dream & Grew Weary

I Had a Weary Dream & Grew Weary                     

In my bed fat songs & hymnals
howl beneath the covers in delicate despair
I have too many dreams.
I watch the screen & freeze
into a perceived glimpse of things.
I rush the heavy doors of a grand sale shutdown.
The doors slam as I arrive.
A visa to Italy stands up in my porch swing.
Her arms stretch chain to chain.
She heaves her hula hips to fly in breezes.
I weep a wave of spring water that screeches
a love song to solidarity.
I nap in pieces.
An opera of dance bones sing, March on,
March on, in a deep monotone.
A small herd of gazelles stand startled
in the act of unconsciousness.
I am analyzing the ceiling with my eyes open.
My walls have dark debris in the cracks
of ruffled dry wall.
I am impoverished with nightmares.
My till of winks is an empty bowl.
I am the clock that minutes cheat.
Now it is too close to morning to find sleep.

Reviews

[Steve]

A fantastic read as always, jumping from one fantastic image to the next, a semi-subconscious haze... brilliant!
'She heaves her hula hips to fly in breezes' - i loved that line :)

[Gathering_Stars]

You have an intellegent use of words, They twist and spiral and take you somewhere, but then you look back to make sure you've read what you just read and they take you somewhere else entirely.

Very enjoyable, to say the least.

[W.k.kortas]

It has the start-and-stop, the wild and various images, the seeming disconnectedness of the partly-dreamy, partly-awake state the title references. It's form and theme working together hand-in-glove and, as Emily so wisely notes, it is what and how we would say things, if only we were up to the task.

[Emily B]

These are amazing words. I came and read. And stopped. And waited to have something intelligent to say about how great they really are. You have this uncanny ability to write for all of us. To write our lives so that we recognize the face on the page. Only in ways we never thought possible.