Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2009


by Rick Robinson

last night i dreamt of you
sitting on a tree swing
your legs outstretched
your smile fading into the late summer air
soft giggles floating on a vibe of honey...
then you faded and were gone with the dull pop
of a wet bubble
why do i dream these things,
these made up memories?
like a teenage fetish of gangling awkward symmetry...
i ask the question spoken dead into the pitch black midnight room
but the ceiling only covers me...like a coffin lid
i struggle to bed down again and fragments of colour
fight for clarity as the wires cross in the pull of sleep
and then you're there again, swinging, and i try to speak
to say 'i love you' but my chest constricts with steel ribs
but i can see you, i can smell your hair, you're so close
almost touching and a question forms unbidden and escapes
'do i dream in colour or are you just a pigment of my imagination?'
but no laughter comes;
sleep; tiny fragments of death; night trips into the void
where do i go? someplace between two heart beats and I'm dead.

Added: 23.04.2009