The Process

A dream ends, another begins.



At a quarter-to-ten the great clock chimes.
One strike compounds with the next
Like opposing ripples on a pond.
And though you do not know it
Their interference pattern writes a spell:
Time has shifted and you are twelve times changed.
Though thoughts are flashed in your head
They flirt like skipping stones
Into and out of your consciousness
Bouncing off your understanding
In one syllable bits of intermittent code.


The view from the window is exactly the same,
But you will look, won’t you? For signs of change.
But the change is infinitesimal and secret –
All dimensions are impenetrable one to the other.
Your panicked mouth is open, you fight for breath:
Fight to regain control of your speech, your hands,
The rise and fall of your chest, your understanding.
Try second-guessing this awakening day!
Will it rain, shine, or will it break your heart?
And all the things you do not know
Are before you…

Waiting for autonomous rediscovery.




© griffonner 2023
Views: 1054
critique and comments welcome.
Notify of
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments

I agree with the first verse (and love your phrasing) but not with the second. I am delighted to see the new blooms and spend a moment to mourn the dried ones, but a writer’s world is created inside his head and what an exciting world that can be


thinking is realizing with a lag as I said elsewhere.

we dream the past when we’re awake and sleep throughout the now. guessing, when pure, is closer to being in the now is better in understanding the past and more correct in seeing the future, I guess.

Flag Content