To become weightless, I wish I could be—
An echo of laughter in the steppes, you see,
And soon my bronchi will fill to the brim
With idle joy in the depths within.
And goosebumps will suddenly tread so light
On my naked spine, softly in flight,
Along the curve of my collarbone,
On skin as pale as an old telex tone.
And among the pillars of poplar trees
In the grove where psalms are penned with ease,
A foolish shrub grows, untrimmed and free,
And beneath that shrub, there's you and me.
YOU ARE READING
Dream Machine v.1
PoetryDream Machine v.1 All poems in this series are reflections on dreams, fragments of which were recorded on a voice recorder and then refined by syntax, like a sculpture by a chisel. Naive, in some sense eerily familiar, but too transcendent to be tru...
