Poets' Practice Pad

Each Night

With nods and knowing eyes,
the pillow takes over
the opus magnum,
as darkness kills the sounds
and the foundation under me
sags,
threatening to crumble.

On the enormous expanse
of the haunt of dreams
and fantasy worlds
with accidental variations,
where I end up stranded
on an antique kilim
in front of a magical castle
filled with dark wood,
the pillow points to
the tricky winds in spirals
narrowing to a keyhole.

At each toss and turn,
sorting through the crypts
of buried subtexts,
the pillow cuddles the dark head
against its white,
and lets this protagonist
raise a ruckus
to update her plot.




Sig by karjia96

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