Unquiet Desperation
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Author Topic: Sepia Is Two Colours Not One  (Read 1119 times)
Pater
Galileo Galilei
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Posts: 672


Pressed wrong button in p'port photo booth...


« on: January 24, 2013, 02:14:11 AM »

Five-past midnight,
who gives a fuck?
Sleeping partners lie
together just as
they've always done.
For years.

I tidy my mind
at times like this,
rerun the dreams
awake I had last night.
Pieces revisit through the day.
Like forebears.

Freud-haters talk shite
about electrical shunts,
that folk dream only
as a process of files.
Computer-like as an index
in a life book. Yet a thought
is a feeling attached to something,
reaching miles and miles inside.
All those in dreamscapes right now
don't know it. As if they cared.

Someone I know and meet
tomorrow will push anger back
to be civilised, smile and bare
their grand piano teeth,
shuffle their pretty feet
and wish they were elsewhere.

Living dreams while awake,
single paths to solid things,
automobiles, and latte-filled plastic cups,
make them gape wide-eyed until
they make their way home again.
While on the roof of a tower block,
the sandman only stares. And waits.

The evening clock ticks on
for everyone. The wind whistles
out there, and memories of childhood
filter through the mind of someone,
Freud's ghost stirs in his grave. My own dreams
from yesterday are now complete.
I will read my own book before I go to sleep.

by Pater
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