Dream Time Poetry

the cover was torn,

the colour had faded to grey,

and then I remembered

I’d read it before

and already had paid the price.

But I pulled out a penny to pay the man

though he hadn’t yet asked for my thoughts

so the penny, like love, fell to the floor

and I planted a smile on my face.

I went back home and packed up my heart

in a red velvet box with a clasp.

A precaution, you see, in case love should think

I died in a daylight raid.

But I’m still alive walking around

with a brick in the place of my heart

and when I get back it’ll be quite flat

with no blood left to turn about face.

 
Maybe for now a brick will do

cold and hard and lifeless inside

to keep me sane and grounded in life

until I am no longer me. 

 
The moral, however, of this silly tale

is perhaps of no consequence

when the heart of the matter is under a bed

beating alone with no phone

to dial love up and call it back home

from wherever it went to be free.  

 
That’s it!  It’s life that squashes a heart