Surreal Poem by James Tipp

Travelling through other peoples space
The race, or stroll spiralling down a hole
To emerge in a place that never existed
Only in your imagination does this happen.
The mind machine drives ever forward
Making up stories from the random chaos
I drift in a panic of expectation ever lost
People from my past and present intermingle
Some old some new some a mystery, faceless.
Struggling not to be late for an appointment
Knowing the way to the place where you fly
Leap from mountains and buildings, unharmed
Boarding the train that will take you home
If only you knew the way, when you stop.
Lost keys, phones that never work, madness.
Finding the book to read, but unable to read
Holding forth and nobody listens or cares.
Such is the surreality of dreams, from the mind.