Under and out of the carapace


 

Down the needle point I see
a field of dreams that wait for me
poppies waving gleefully
a community for those who
semi comatose would seek a peek into
the afterlife,
and before the afterlife, before the seed,before the overpowering need,before the point became the point,
after the smoking of a joint,after the wanting one more high,after the roof blew off the sky or was that in the afterlife?that being the point as memory deceives and leaves me undecided as to what occurred and in what order.
Where the order was no order and all was in some disarray and each day was another night,when the needle point became the light.
Then
when right in at the deep end, when one more step would send me over the top,
I stop to look around and in the silence of a greater sound I see another pin to prick,a pick me up,a loving cup,where dreams are heaven sent and very different.
I see the point is no point at all,no point to fall from grace,no point to send me racing on some long forgotten highway,
and day becomes the day.
The light’s okay
now.

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