This is the grand old charm of dreams
and this the spiraling disbelief of waking:
in between the eyelid's shut and open,
before the iris figures which way to contract,
when the mind's yet to determine the nature or the act,
the dividing line between appears so thin
that one may be the other for the taking,
and neither fully be the one it seems.
Friday, October 3, 2014
Work poem #1
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