[ lucid ]Brent Goodman
He decided sleep wasn't good enough. He lined the inside of his skull with black velvet, turned the music down low. The whiskey helped too. He wrote elaborate dream vignettes with dialogue and dramatic tension and hidden meanings, submitting them to a black mailbox at the end of a dead end street. His hand disappears inside. Then arm, torso, legs, etc. The moon above as small as the dim LED indicating something's ON, or OFF.
Author Discusses Poems
|©copyright 2004-2018, No Tell Motel. All poems ©copyright the authors.|