SLEEP AND DESIRE

Why do I want to sleep? Is it the dreaming?

Aren’t dreams as real as life’s dreamlike seeming

And dreams more pleasant, and more uniquely mine?

Who wouldn’t rather sleep than listen to assholes all the time?

But sleep is not desire and I miss desire, too.

You are not a dream, are you?

That hankering in the blood under the sun

For what is real, the dream and the real all one,

I very much want that, too.

I will never forget when you said yes

And allowed me to nightly press

My hardness against your softness,

My brute and blind and stupid prick

Against you, wise and politic.

Did that joy only seem

To be real, like a dream?

Yes, yes, I have to say yes;

It was a dream, because it’s gone now, and you were not the one,

And do we confess

Desire like that beneath the real sun?

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2 Comments

  1. Andrew said,

    April 3, 2015 at 2:48 am

    All I can confess is this:

    I’d rather sleep
    than listen to my own asshole.

  2. thomasbrady said,

    April 3, 2015 at 11:37 am

    Maybe I should change assholes to people…it would have the same meaning, really…


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