teeth dreaming

by Allen Seward

in here
these lights bright
or only seeming
bright
heaven touches the doorway
and we are awake

there are no giants
there are no talking fish
there is no megalodon,
the dream is over.

in here
the pillow holds the
brain in place
and the ceiling spins,
wine is used for
splashing angels onto
the wall

there is no one on the moon,
so few of us look up anyway

there are no human-faced spiders
catching us up in their webs

there is no revelation
because that either does not come
or does not come this cheaply,

the dream is over.

the book collects dust.

the giants shrink and
the fish-poets stop writing, their
words drowned in sorrow.
no one has seen megalodon.
the moon is not out tonight
but perhaps on the 13th
I will ask about things.

there is the sound of legs moving
in the dark, but that is all.

the dream is over.

the book collects dust.

Allen Seward is a thirty-something poet-thing and mill worker. His work has appeared in Scapegoat Review and DEDpoetry, and his chapbook sway condor is available on Amazon thanks to Alien Buddha Press. He currently resides in WV with his partner and three cats.