|
Sandman
by V. Blakethe sandman fucked off with all our dreams.
truth be told, we didn't even think much of it
till he washed up naked on a beach somewhere,
but by then he'd turned to mud anyway
so none of us gave half a shit about cleaning up the goddamn mess he made.
now all we've got round here is time travel--
periods of consciousness punctuated by sober hours of empty sleep--
and the mornings after don't feel much different
from the bad decisions made late at night.
no one even builds castles anymore. 03/10/2010 Posted on 03/10/2010
Copyright © 2024 V. Blake
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Michael Smith on 03/13/10 at 05:06 AM A great play on the various contexts of sand, my friend. I also like the quasi-symmetry in this regard, in that we started with dreams and ended with dreams [in a way]. This is probably one of my favorites of yours, actually. It feels like something is missing, though, maybe it's a tad disjointed or maybe it's just a side-effect of how open it is to interpretation, which usually adds to the greatness of pieces. Thanks very much, Vince.
|
| Posted by Charlotte Smith on 03/15/10 at 01:42 AM My favorite: brutally honest with a hint of ironic sarcasm. Thank you for this image. I'll never look at the beach the same way again. |
| Posted by Glenn Currier on 03/15/10 at 04:24 PM The castles do seem a dim memory in light of how my choices do so often seem more like the night before than a new fresh start. Part of moving on is facing the pain. You do that with this piece. Thanks. |
|
