All Dreams Die
I enter my other world
where pain – a brutal sun – rises so slowly
I hardly know its pointless orbit has begun
Then – too late – it floods my landscape.
Higher, harsher more violent rays
find my soul and all dreams die
I live of course
– nothing as numb as death appears –
and remembered life offers the hope
this senseless sun will set.
Only relief matters
I have no defences and as for plans,
ideas, and my spirit's love of flying.
They are senseless ghosts
bleached by the light
intense pain turns on all dreams
My body doesn’t crash
like an obliging computer –
it goes haywire:
stomach in stasis, temperature yo-yos
senses recoiling from
light, sound, smells,
blood vessels blowing up
then shrinking like mechanical balloons.
I throw up of course;
peristalsis has to join in.
My body is a party and the venue must be trashed
Sometimes – if not alone and offered kindness
I weep ridiculous tears
grieving for my functioning world
barely remembered.
Days and nights later
after the party’s over
the brutal sun begins to set and
I journey back slowly
ghosts of ideas growing flesh as
dreams reinhabit my exhausted being and
senses calm ready to feel the real sun.
And on the third day
I rise – again.
