2001-09-27

The title of this poem is a bunch of symbols that I was doodling before I wrote it. It was the second piece I read tonight. I'm putting it in first because someone asked me for a copy of the second one, so I referred them to this page, and that means the other poem will appear when they type in the URL.
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Don't know why
These dreams still bleed into my head
It seems that the waves of time
Can't erode the guilt from my psyche
These dreams are a whispered soliloquy
Unenjoyable to all but the speaker
Whose motivations are as mysterious
As they seem stupid
And these subconscious webs
Are cutting off thought circulation
I've learned that apparitions
Turn my stomach
When digested in my head
As unappetizing to my mind
As the paradox parables of Socrates
The music of Eric Zann
Translated for the mind's eye
Engulfing me until
The mourning cigarette

~MattMagus

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