Dream On Poem by Hans Ostrom

A small council
of evolutionary matter
in a county of the brain
knows the real purpose
of dreams, one
wholly unrelated to what
we imagine dreams do
for, to, with us. So I
dutifully dream, as if
it were a chore that came
with sleeping (it is) , as if
I were a member of that small,
secret provincial council,
which meets in a lodge
somewhere off of Highway Zero,
East of West, as if I had
a choice in the matter of
dreams, the dreams of
matter.

Copyright 2007 Hans Ostrom