LIVED-IN

 

It’s only poetry

It’s no big deal

It’s no opening for Mensa

It’s dreaming of a start

in mankind’s arresting

fall from grace and

a beginning of all, an

ideal-card like sombre

tune.

 

The corridors of power

are lined with cells

a nurse-white cometh

to end it all

for you too.

Sit staring at the wall

naked in a shirt

plain mattress and

a plastic cup

of water.

 

Wander lonely as a

paranoid schizophrenic

full of lived-in

experience

Speak forty languages

opening the door

and peering through

that which others

seek to slam.

 

Dreamin’

I’m always dreaming

 

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS 2017

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