Serial dreamer

Morpheus, I wonder why

you call me there with such insistence.

Why carry me to this city

of perambulating walls and roofs involved

in dubious debates with gravity;

where fences, squares, doors

don’t hold their place

neither do trees, who tend to leave their lines

and congregate in clusters and knots

right where the houses should be.

. ___ .

You’re playing with me, dear Morpheus,

this can’t be me just standing there

naked contemplating two moons

while I’m here holding fire in my hands,

talking to shadow versions of my father.

The trees have left, I said, and now

there are only scars to mark their place.

Don’t  weep, they said; you’re weeping!

Here! We have this photograph.

.___ .

Don’t go yet, Morpheus. I’m still aware of you. Don’t go!

Look! Is there a hand that tries to come across?

That square paper seems suddenly infinite

and out of this vastness plops an infant

of pinky flesh and hairless head and eyes of great wisdom.

I’m born out of a primal womb, it said

turning into my mother, and in this womb will everything return.

Stop weeping!

. ___ .

Where are you, Morpheus? Why leave me now

when the answer is at hand?

Where is that godsend child that knows

where everything starts and ends

but hasn’t told me yet about before,

in-between and after?

. ___ .

Where are you, Morpheus?


3 responses to “Serial dreamer

  1. εξαιρετικός ο Μορφέας και επίκαιρος εν αναμονή Χριστουγέννων

  2. Χαίρομαι που σου άρεσε Νανά!

  3. After the above comment by nausikoul (in Greek), and thanks to Therese L. Broderick at ReadWritePoem
    ( ), I realised that the expression “virgin womb” is taken as a Christian reference, whereas I intended it to be understood as the pre-mythological godchild
    ( ). It has now been changed to “primal womb”, even though this also seems to have been usurped by the Christian narrative.

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