In my own inimitable way I want to catch the dream
that got away; this is an eccentric fantasy, but only
asleep can I see it rock gently in deep currents, set
in an arcane stream of embedded consciousness,
rested the length of a dizzy descent where, even in
dreams, I quake in a dementia of insecurity to just
whose balance we test; but there's no escaping its
cardinal residency - and its ineffable sovereignty
Then in a screech of birds driven from feeding on
sunflower seeds - epitome of contest as to whose
bluff bests a false veneer of impregnability, we’re
aflight and soaring inside the schemes of nether
versions to their obscure realities - it isn’t an end
to non sequitur either, we are levered to heights
We didn’t believe could be reached without tight
rein on tendentious imagination - and then we’re
commanded back by the Laws of Gravity again;
it is a descent that says you’ll sleep here better
than wherever you dreamt you’ve ascended to -
or can we sense that we’re already there
© 3 October 2017, I. D. Carswell
No comments:
Post a Comment