By Jane Hyphen
In all its forms.
A dead man knocked my door today I saw his features through the glass They made me rush to open it And shout, 'It's you! You didn't pass!' And tell him of a dream I'd had
The magic came At evening tide As fissures of fire Cracked honied skies And sun-warmed rocks Were all aglow As floating words Rode windless air I stepped into the garden And felt a charge
A place of ends, of groans and slopes Of pills in little envelopes A TV blares at mismatched chairs A room of wishy washy stares If they only knew how much they'd paid
The bad news came in spoken words Absurdities in deadpan tones My manners saved me from myself 'Well thanks,' I said, 'for all your help.' While inward beat a heavy drum
There's nothing to see here You've seen it all Pupils fixed, legs bent It's neither close nor far away You're safe in your home This dreamy cocoon so...