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Out of Dreams
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Like clay brick eroded
by rain, thoughts sear
my better part, calling me
to the altar, to kneel and
discipline these fantastical wanderings.
Like an egg yolk pierced, I spill
my substance flat across the frying pan.
I live in the time just before dawn.
I curse the crocodile but praise
its authority. The clock strikes seven
and I have lost my sparrow for good.
I have waited for the change, wished myself more
than this life, making a remedy from imagination.
I will walk the straight line as an experiment, walk
to feel like a buttercup flower tied to the forest floor –
satisfied with its display of tiny splendor, at peace
with its place amongst the aged trees.
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© 1992 by Allison Grayhurst
amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst
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First published in “Outlaw Poetry” October 2018
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Published in “Chicago Record” November 2018
https://magazine-record.blogspot.com/2018/11/years-before-his-resurrection-on.html
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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:
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