Now I sleep.
This is the nightly game of death
played between life and me.
This is sweet
respite from the
waking world, or
some such life-like dream
Of the Unreal Ghosts
that flood
the Unreal city
and float through
hollow streets.
Burrying themselves
beneath the concrete
for fear
of drifting off.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I LIKE THIS POEM BECAUSE YOU HAVE TOUCHED ON ONE OF MY FEARS GOING TO BED AND NOT BEING AROUND FOR BREAKFAST BUT I MUST TELL YOU THAT I SLEEP IN A DEEP SLEEP, SO IT CANT BOTHER ME THAT MUCH, IT MAKES YOU WANT TO LEAVE A NOTE SAYING SORRY I CANT MAKE BREAKFAST THIS MORNING REGARDS AJS