TO BE, OR NOT

As he begins to speak, she realizes
this conversation will, as usual,
devolve into a monologue.
It is always this way, and
with a finely honed skill,
she, eyes wide open,
slips out of this moment.
She is certain, correctly so,
he will never notice.
He will fill in her nods, assume
she has heard and agreed,
and this pleases him greatly.
It is always like this, the script
unvarying, it is simply
words, words, words.
She knows this and lives with it
more from Newton’s law,
her own Yorick awaiting
a Hamlet she knows is gone.

THE BEAUTY OF DREAMS

The beauty of dreams
is the plasticity of the mind
when it passes the margin into sleep.
As the new reality takes hold
places and people are allowed
to morph, the subconscious
becomes sculptor, creating
what never was from what is,
writing the script, editing it,
and all in real-time, the last act
to be completed before the conscious
reality takes back the stage
and much of what has transpired
is cast into the corner of the mind,
to be later edited
in the harsh light of day.