Recurring Nightmares
Some speak of the horror
Of stumbling into a loud
Brightly lit ballroom filled with hundreds
Of unfamiliar leering faces
Or the one where you’re giving
A speech in a packed lecture hall
While standing on stage completely naked
And your notes are all written in Greek
Others scoff
At these imaginary nocturnal travails.
For them, absurdist improv is each
Unfolding second of their everyday conscious lives
Where the moment after every moment is like waking up
Alone in the owled hours after midnight
Bare feet on the hardwood floor
Shivering in cold tachycardic sweat
Trying to find solace
In whispered reassurances
About what’s real and what’s not—
Maybe it was all just a bad dream
But they haven’t slept all night
And the sun is moments from rising
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