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DREAM STATE
Ordinary people are entering my mythology.
Briefly in my life but in my legends for the long haul.
It must be my age. My traditions are my fables.
My memories are allegories. It’s all an enigma
but at least now I can name names. Sure
my family are in there, and my wife. But the
parables have becomes so all-inclusive. Not
just friends but acquaintances. And men,
women, introduced to briefly or even pointed
out to me at a party. They’re there in the
middle of the night It’s a different place,
a different time, but it’s still them.
And they’re shape shifters. The farmer is now
the admiral. The one who slaps my face is she who
kisses me. It’s not fabrication. Not when the
subconscious is responsible. Nothing more true
than when my mind doesn’t know I’m lying.
by John Grey
email: jgrey10233@aol.com
