Dreaming
Dreaming of her all night
But in the morning she is gone
Over the border into the mad world
Now in the mental ward with the dark flowers
Blooming in her hair
While she communes with the saints
And those beings only she can see
Conducting human history
I am mundane here
Doing the laundry
Feeding the kids and the dog
Signing permission slips for school trips
Counting food stamps and washing dishes
Matching socks to socks and cleaning the bathtub
I try not to weep
As I shake-off my sleep
And find myself alone
In a big house that used to be home
But now is an anchor around my neck
While in a psychotic earth she has found birth
O it is afternoon now
Bright and hot is the desert sun
As the Spring is anew
Day by day I see
Soon it may be me that is done
About Desmond and Poems Unrequited.
Copyright © 2013-2023 Mani O'Brien. All rights reserved.
