30 Jan 2016 – Dreams

1
The road was rain and mirthless mud –
dark behind and dark ahead.
This slough of slop became my blood,
the shredded stalks became my bread.

2
These snaking stairwells dot my dreams,
but never lead me to the ground.
No echo sounding from my screams,
no matte-print map my path propounds.

3
Self-minted myths my wallet swells,
the likeness on each bill my own,
and if the script reeks high of hell,
the author bears the blame alone.

~

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