Tuesday, June 18, 2024


As soon as you doze, you dream,
Not even a pause, just gone
Into counterfactuals

Then jolting awake again,
Slumped over in a wheelchair,
Uncomfortably aware

Of being a drooling heap
Of unwashed clothes and grey hair.
And what were you dreaming of?

You can’t remember. Not this,
That’s for sure. If you could stay
Alert, this would be better

Than dreams anyway. Mild breeze.
Birds sing. Try hard not to dream.

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