Songs (from a Dream)

Take. Take. Take.
Take me over.

Something’s wrong. With her or with me.
Ever since she escaped from the blue-grey
backgrounds of my dreams, she smiles.
Why? At me. Why?

Once, long ago, I dredged myself
from an unforgivable river. Unlike death,
hopelessness doesn’t flow away and disappear.
It repeats. It circles. Closer and closer.

I don’t love who you are;
I love who you will become.
A part of me.

I want to be wanted. Or wanting.
How much of desire is emptiness?
As if nothingness is a disjunction of folds.
Tense. Waiting. Always needing
an inexplicable shape within.

No one stands here. In my footsteps.
Don’t wake me from my dream. I want you
to count to ten, and when the teardrop hits
the cold concrete undergirding our world.
Listen. Hear me. But I . . .

Sha na na nuh na na sha la.
And then she was gone.

Copyright 2011 by Michael Marsters.
All rights reserved.


6 thoughts on “Songs (from a Dream)

  1. This poem is as vivid and mysterious and intricate as your dream; reading it is like being in your dream; the last few lines evoke so precisely that feeling of wanting to stay in a dream but being forced out of it. I very much like, too, the way you convey two states at the same time: that of dreaming and that of analysing the dream afterwards (while trying to hold onto it). Some wonderful lines: being dredged from an unforgivable river, and ‘as if nothingness is a disjunction of folds’. The teardrop, too…


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