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The Trip

by David R Spellman

It was even hotter
with the windows
open at every toll
along the I95 from...
well, just from
a moment before there
was no turning back
to the reality you had
thought you’d known
nor speaking of
what lay upon
the tip of my tongue.
The city apartment,
as we emptied it all,
I was thinking that
too, we had robbed
the moment from when
nothing was left but
two oil paintings still
hung on the walls,
their galloping horses
crashing in the surf
while scorpions circled
in concert with this
room’s shifting dust,
blown away at my feet
stirred by the lateness
of the closing day.


Author's Note: Lucid Surrealistic Dream

Posted on 01/27/2005
Copyright © 2020 David R Spellman

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Sarah Graves on 01/27/05 at 09:33 PM

There seems to be a sense of nostalgia with this piece, very effective. I really enjoyed reading this.. great work once again David :)

Posted by Mary Ellen Smith on 01/29/05 at 12:11 AM

You really capture that feeling of moving here..the empty room...great writing!

Posted by JD Clay on 01/30/05 at 10:22 PM

Now there is a trip with no map. And they wonder why, we men, never stop to ask for directions. Shoot, we'd ride that scorpion on into the night if it had a saddle on it, right Dave? Cool dream. Pe4ce...

Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 01/31/05 at 12:41 AM

Now what in your subconscious brought this one on? Really your expression of the dream has some cogency. The conscious mind attempting to make sense out of the subconsious I think. Anyway it inspired a poem!

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