Who wants to hear another’s dreams?
It’s hard enough to care
about one’s own – all those floundering ships
and thumping pistons, the endless
rewinding and unravelling
of used-up scripts. The baroque noise
of their petty operas,
the emptied auditoriums,
all echoic non-events.
Sure, Bad is here
in his haloed hat. Love,
that mixed-up kid,
strains to heave
another log into the ash.
Anyway, here it is.
I was standing in front of a mirror.
Me and a wolf.
It ate a passing postman in one gulp
who, from inside, begged for one last wish.
Neither the wolf nor myself
knew about wishes, we were realists
to the bone. Then the mirror spoke
but when I woke
nothing remained
but the one word