dark substance


there is a sleep
that comes
as nighttime weaves
around you

patterns moving
speckled light
against the black

shadow substance
tears away
before your hands
if you reach
to touch it

wraps
inside the dream
a still-shaped form
of you

patterns move
the play unfolds
contorted situations
show as real

but it’s only nighttime
weaving
the speckle dark

insubstantial
as the dust
of what you dreamt
before


© Frank Prem, 2017

April 2017 Poem #24: turn my coffee

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