by Jeremy Carson

Another dream dies
and I sip from the abyss
of infinite solace.
Everything tumbles
into an awkward
Spinning round and round
and all about
they leave me.
But it's not that
Tomorrow shows
us that there is one,
not enough.
I hear the screams
as untied words
form at the backs
of our heads.
And in the end...
does this mean anything.
Why, not at all.
We're all just
conversation pieces
on the coffee table
of life.

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back, 11 June 1998