Food chewed
And digesting
Drink quaffed
And through the plumbing
Then the
Nap of belching
Grunting
In the map
Of dreams
He turned over
Where he was
Deeper of a
Snorer
Breakfast appeared
Before awaking
It was nearer midnight
By the
Ticking
Many phony eggs were
Breaking
But a real nose was sniffing
Eyes closed
Nodding her head
Lost in the
Fuzzy synths
And incense
When the bass
Plunged deep
And the drums
Gained ground
On her heart
Beat
The lights slipping
Across her eyelids
She tried to make
Her move
Her one
Dance move
Which was
A serpentine
Sweep of
Arm
With a
Roll of hip
Two sprinkles hairy wart
Flesh of stag killed in sport
Dissolved in heavy brine
Will make limbs swoon
And the stricken recline
Where once frenzied with fever
Pallor will clear and
Gaze refine
Purple of imp’s bulbous nose
Pinch of tulip and primrose
Will have the morbidly dreaming repose
As if beneath a moon soft with gauze
Enwrapped the sleeper warms and lulls
Hair receding
Bulges bulging
Self-defeating
And indulging
But in his
Mind
He’s a butterfly
Decorating the sky
Back is aching
Eyes are squinting
Faces making
Life is tinting
But his
Spirit is
Flitting about
A perfumed fir
Is this Billy
In the mirror
Dusk gathers its embers
Then stars slide down rooves
Later there’s the rain’s hooves
They feasted
On the
Beast
Finally caught
After roaming
The wood
Every night
It spilled from the
Lips
And filled the cheeks
When once it
Took the sun
And the wind
It’s running down
Some of their chins
Fangs above
The fire
Fur along
The floor
Come again
To devour
Sitting in the drawer
Lacking all punctuation
It leaped and locked onto his face
Like a crustacean
Drained of blood, it had finished him
But there was a dud poem
Lodged in his noggin
To poison all ambition
The cupcakes carl coughed up
Weren’t pertinent to the case
But would have been the icing on the case
The voice seemed to be coming from
The series of pipes and hum that followed
Before all went quiet
It had sounded like a crone
Issuing a warning about bad plumbing perhaps?
In the dregs of night, the voice returned
Sterner, more threatening
Flushing the toilet was all
He could think of
Use your God damn imagination,
She implored,
Sounding bored
Falling asleep
During the meditation
Would earn you a whack
The tiny bird
Makes its feet brief
Upon the branch
Thwack
Crack
The dream is like flight
Or the dream
Takes flight