new old kid on the blog,
with an occasional
old or new poem written off
the old writer's block
Yes, it's that incredulous insomniac in the laboratory, never willing to put down the test tubes for a minute, who always screws up the great experiment just at the brink of the final triumph of nescience. This is the kind of poem calculated to keep one awake at night. A bullet into the heart of the possibility of dreams. Very well calibrated at that.
Curled up in bed, looking for one last poem before settling into sleep. What an irony. Think I'll take an extra valerian to be on the safe side. That big moon outside isn't helping. Grand poem to take into the dream lab that Tom describes.
Comforting to know one's being looked after by two astute hawk-eyed members of a dream team vigilance committee. :)