day dreams

by David McLean

my nightmares all became daydreams
without any alteration of content,
once when all the devils became welcome,
and cosmos and its godlessness

no longer mattered. there is nothing wrong
with being dead forever and time and its “it was” –
they are nothing and so dreadful
that i tend to love them, nowadays;

such sweet fields where the void plays
our slimy histories, all the devils
drunk as old soldiers in me,
and that glorious future with no me in

a dreadful destiny i tend to like –
reason’s eternal night


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