the origin of dreams

Way down the sightless, slumbering wastes 

of a moonless mind, anchored in the hollow

like a thumbnail crab in the pink slides 

of a conch’s heart, awaits a silver sailing ship

of solitary, drowning voyages

borne on currents of rushing memory.

 

Once nightly, there steals a flashing spine

of light, forged from realization

piercing blue rolling waves and streaking 

through undersea mountains.

 

This illumined eel invades the subconscious

and corrals all thought into a whirling torrent

whipping the helm clockwise and releasing 

the sleeping barge from ancient reefs of fear.

 

In this way, the ship roams a lifetime of years.

From The Opulence Of InventionCopyright © 2018 E. P. Mattson, All Rights Reserved.

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