It’s Midnight

At nighttime I look forward to dreaming

But it’s unlikely I’ll remember whatever,

When it’s nighttime my mind flows 

Like a calm stream, and then explodes.

There’s a genuine sad-happiness in me,

That makes me ineffectual, indifferent

And it can make you sad too at night

In all the dreams I remember there’s brief recollections of past events

Done differently

Regrets strangling my snoring head

Into complete submission, voluntarily

I look forward to the chance to

Perform something, explore something for a moment

At nighttime and whether I’ll remember it doesn’t matter

A great dream from times past 

Away at nighttime and it reminded me

Of why I went to school for years and years

Because school is for phonies and I was one of them

And I still am one of them, the square-looking

Reject children that did well in school and suffered for it

that noticed the meaning behind the teacher’s words but not their own

that battled for days and nights against hordes of papers and plastics

that earned for themselves when there was nothing to earn but green

Dollar bills and a momentary happiness every other Friday

that incarcerated their feeble sadnesses and happinesses 

that took martial arts classes to

Boost their self-esteem and make them feel like bonafide warriors for once

Encourage their sense of right and wrong

Demolish their tower of self-security built as a function of pi

apple slices broke down into sedimentary metamorphic igneous rocks

pear slices why does no one talk about pears as much as apples

clementine tangelo tangerine oranges what’s the use

fruity words escape the nighttime 

What’s the use I’m not even dreaming

It’s not time yet for school, for work

It’s not eight in the morning it’s not morning or night

It’s not Saturday or Monday or Tuesday either

It’s no day but today

And time is a human construct we can avoid

Just don’t look at it when you’re sleeping

I won’t remember the 5th of November, today

Because it’s not a day

And neither are you



One thought on “It’s Midnight

  1. I often have dreams I think would make wonderful stories, but then forget then when I wake up. The other night I had one I remember well and I hope to shape it into a short story in the coming weeks. Dreams can be wonderful.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s