In the pit of night,

the unlit street is slow and silent.

(I can hardly be said to be moving myself.)

Still, I arrive home.

The steps to my apartment are steep,

but I am at the door.

Where are my keys?

I find them and open the door.

Inside is more darkness, anxiety and self-doubt,

and the absence of angels.

I worry that the police will pass

and mistake me for a thief.

The world is turning slowly;

I reach for the light.

The stars dispense crystals

from an open sky,

but darkness remains all around me.

Where is the light?

Abruptly I am awake.


The dream of logic

is the logic of the dream.


(With apologies to you the reader: I don’t know how to delete the blank spaces between lines anymore. If you do know, I will be forever grateful for your instruction.)

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