ECHOES FROM ONE TO ANOTHER - POEM
- MEANWHILE -
The teeth of the I who is in bed at the time begin to grind,
The lower half of my body springs up high (like a fish yanked out of water).
It makes the bed grind its teeth along with me.
A thousand springs,
Each with a different tone,
Split open like dry wood in a bonfire.
The grinding merges into the dream,
Echoes from one to another amongst the forest of arches
And begins to play a funeral dirge for me.