the past

last week perhaps

or more likely

a less familiar last night.

a dreamless sleep.

in other words 

as death is.

what do we know

of sleep without dreams

which approach

without crossing its borders?

if we are sleeping

while plugged into

the apparatus which

keeps us living

are we not dead nonetheless?

christ. this poem’s a drag.

I need a refreshing

Hallmark greeting card

with a cartoon elephant

saying something funny

and when the page is turned

a peanut saying

something funnier.

I need the comic

awkwardness of the jitterbugging

old timer freewheeling

to the delight of

the guests at the reception

just before he

falls with a broken hip

and hits the floor like

an old shoe at bedtime. ha ha ha.