Ghost Stories

A poem about how the subconscious finds redress, even when we cannot find it in our waking lives

Photo by Ella Arie on Unsplash

I woke from a dream

we were hanging out all casual

you chatting, something something

but I couldn’t stop the tears

And then we got into a red convertible

and on a wide bend in the road I mouthed

an abdication

letting the wheel slip back to center,

crashing into a utility box at

slow motion dream speed

Doing violence to us like

the season your heart hardened,

trashing everything we were and never

looking back