Mrs Dorothy’s Haunting

Dream-dunes and speckles of dust cascading

Deeper into the metal case, stitched with metal lace – yet ripped, zipped, torn open.

 

A buggy made of shoelace, a tavern made of yarn enter into me also

Head-case, last letters of tomorrow and all the dreams I used to dream.

 

Today instilled in dreaming.

Tomorrow lost in meaning, teaming stamps from yester-night’s leavings.

 

I want to pack the seams down.

 

Head-case.

 

Floods of devil’s food and ghetto rhinos.

A crawly snatches me, Be still, I’m am dreaming.

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