Month: September 2017

untitled lines

am I but the narcotic dream
from ancient poppies ground between
the the pestles and the galipots
of medieval alchemists?
and as a dream may I partake
of conscious pleasures when I wake
to wander freely in the light?
oft denied me by the night
but what is true, what may I see
to believe is my reality?
Is this existence all it seems
could we be more than fleeting dreams?