Legs stirring before the alarm’s tormenting beep,
I wake from strange dreams in the autumn of my youth,
and choke on broken promises I meant to keep–
a sludge that settles to the bottom with the truth
where bottled thoughts belch the foam of cold fermented sleep
and fingers pluck my worries tooth by rotten tooth.
Other dream poems here on Moss Kingdom you can find here: A Child’s Sleep, The Icebox, Dream After Making 300 Valentines for Lifelong Aids Alliance: by Amy Doran