Poetry & Prose

Noctis Tempre Poetica

Finalist in the “Wingless Dreamer Press” Midsummer Contest

I write poetry in the subconscious 

space in between sleep stages,

my brain aligns 

and fixes words upon my mental canvas.

[This works.] [This looks good.] [What a good poem.]

I fall deeper, 

the poem twisting its way through my dreams 

like a ribbon on my wrist.

Morning comes, and the ghost of the poem remains kissed upon my lips. 

My poetry comes like a second language, 

within the requirements of an absent mind.

It speaks inside of me yet in the morning, 

it whispers in the cursive shadows of the words 

trapped inside my sleeping self.