There’s that man,
in my dreams,
who’s always walking through the background,
but who rarely comes to the frame.
Sometimes he comes when I call,
but mostly he just jets away,
magically distracting me with various characters,
issues, and discernment’s, that demand my
muddled, sleep-drown attention.
I get caught up in locking doors,
or signing packing slips,
anything that draws my mind away,
and when I look up
he’s gone.
I think he knows something.
I think he knows everything.
I think he commands my world as I sleep, holding me hostage in my own mind.
I wonder why I would be so important
that he would spend his time this way.
I think he’s trying to teach me something.
I think I’m a slow learner.
I wish he would just tell me his secrets
instead of acting them out in grand and illusive plays
where I am always the fool, or the jester
I caught him once.
I grabbed his arm as he walked by.
I was transported to his office,
where the other dream characters came and went,
asking him for instructions,
getting him coffee,
and handing him documents for approval.
He told me not to be so impatient.
He told me that the secret to my advancement
was not to want it anymore.
There’s that man,
in my dreams,
who’s always walking through the background,
but who rarely comes to the center frame.
His silhouette is more familiar to me than
the freckles on my arms.
When I close my eyes I see it burned into my retina,
like a light I’ve stared at too long.
Sometimes he comes when I call,
but mostly he just jets away,
magically distracting me with various characters,
issues, and discernment’s, that demand my
muddled, diffusive,
sleep-drown attention.io
I get caught up in locking doors,
or signing packing slips,
anything that draws my mind away from him,
and when I look up
he’s gone.
I think he knows something.
I think he knows everything.
I think he commands my world as I sleep, holding me hostage in my mind.
I wonder why I would be so important
that he would spend his time this way.
I think he’s trying to teach me.
I think I’m a slow learner.
I wish he would just tell me his secrets
instead of acting them out in grand and illusive plays
where I am always the fool, or the jester; his jester.
I caught him once.
I grabbed his arm as he walked by.
I was transported to his office,
where the other dream characters came and went,
asking him for instructions,
getting him coffee,
and handing him documents for approval.
He told me not to be so impatient.
He told me that the secret to my advancement
was not to want it anymore.