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A HAUNTING
The ghosts that haunt my dreamsspeak in many languages, eachfamiliar, twisted deep inside me.I cannot answer for they do not listen,say they do not know me, know me well.I want to sit, to talk with each in turnbut I have no voice they can hearchoked off by cruel Morpheuswho only releases his grip oncethey have…
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OBSERVING
He stood alone, a stoic observerin the midst of the maelstrom,deaf to the cacophony,bathed in a golden silence.This was not a gin dream, hehad let go of alcohol and drugsfor they crowded his thoughts,forced them into places henever wanted to be, his dreamsonce his holy salvation and hea penitent to Saint Morpheus, whopromised him freedom,…
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IN ABSENTIA
It is, I thinkher lips I miss mosttheir butterfly flutteracross my cheekthen her eyes, almost felinethat see withinbehind wallshastily erectedthat fall to her sight.It is all of thatand the whispered wordslinking heartsthat still echoas she slides into sleep.I cry out to Morpheusmy words are swallowedby the droneof the enginesthat fall as raininto the Sea of…
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FORGOTTEN SOULS
From the heart of the infernoDante and Lucifer grow boredwaiting, waiting for the ferrywhile Charon stops for lunchyet again at a Greek dinerin the heart of Hell’s Kitchen.They take up a game of catchtossing Molotov cocktails,raining fire onto the brimstone,setting the Styx ablaze.Each knows this is not necessary,for necessity is a creatureof heaven and there…
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BARDLESS
Laertes was supposed to visit mein my dreams last night,but Iago texted that they bothwere suddenly otherwise engaged. There is a strong possibility, of coursethat this was just another instanceof Marlowe trying to wreak havocwith my ever more precious sleep. Tomorrow I will recall none of thisfor the day ereases my dreamsmuch as the sun…
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THE EDGE OF DREAMS
On the razor edge of dreamsthe periphery of consciousnessa face appears, and I am left to wonderwho this person is, who he might be.At first he is a childwith a pixie cut, a bowl placedover the head, the bangs cutwithout considering the face peering outand others peering in.But, as sleep washing the lastsands of consciousness…
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HEART OF NIGHT
The morphology of dreams is partially reliant on the whims of a single god, and Morpheus is, to say the least, a truly fickle bastard who dangles before us joy and nightmare each always just out of reach, but never out of sight or hearing. So we are left to grasp like marionettes operated by…
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OF DREAMS AND DREAMERS
The morphology of dreams is partially reliant on the whims of a single god, and Morpheus is, to say the least, a truly fickle bastard who dangles before us joy and nightmare each always just out of reach, but never out of sight or hearing. So we are left to grasp like marionettes operated…
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TRANSFORMATION
There was a time, once, when the most everything was metaphorical. That was before the great metamorphosis when everything was suddenly malleable. No one was quite certain just what happened. Most thought it was in the dead of night when they, and most everyone else was firmly in the grip of Morpheus, who was, all…
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an old writer and his words 