Wednesday, August 20, 2014
All my dreams gave notice
and quit. It's empty
on the factory floor each night,
no magic to make or supervise.
But in the day, those dreams come by. Disheveled, ghastly in the light,
they grouse a bit and beg for change.
I tell them, please! Come back to work!
I'd be so glad to take you back. You played
so well by dim limelight. By daylight,
you're simply not believable. They
look at me strange, as if I came
from a world that had lost its soul,
its shadow, its reflection and gone
looking for it in theirs. But I'm sure
it was the other way round