Bad Dream

The bad dream that

kills the good dream

the survival by the skin

of one’s teeth.

The good luck that

comes unexpectedly.

 

Mostly on Tuesdays

the fat man comes

to town

to squabble up the

lean meat of the

unfortunate.

 

It’s not about

blood and gore

spilled all over the walls

of good intentions

it’s about inspired

conversations with

brainy young women

who experienced life

as polarities of their

emotions.

 

It’s not about loneliness

entertained with continual

YouTube- movies.

It’s about loss of love

and it’s matching perfection

as rare as blood type

A-minus.

Yeah!

 

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’17.

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