by joey friloux
morning call for breakfast, falls on deaf ears.
i don't need no meal today.
Didn't have dinner last night, cause i ain't even sure when last night was.
forty-eight hours compressed into one
long
sixty
minute
span.
when i'm awake for twenty four hours straight,
those dreams i never dreamed.
where do they go?
are they put on file for later use,
can i catch reruns of Joe the detective?
-Joe the whiz-kid?
-Joe the bandit?
perhaps the dreams force themselves into the waking life,
when you renounce rest.
when you swear off sleep, could it be that
the little dizzy spell? a dream about falling.
the unwavering hard on? a dream about fucking.
the sudden explosion of temper? a dream about killing.
but when you sleep,
where does the awake go?
is it filed away for later use?
brighter days?
come what may's?
per-pet-u-al bore-dom?
dynamic monotony?
or maybe,
just maybe,
as we assume dreams disappear when we awake,
does the world disappear when we sleep?
dreamland Joe:
is he conscious?
is he aware?
is he alive?
does he think?
does he believe?
does he perceive?
does he dream?
or-
is he just a shard of me?
hungry me.
starving me.
did he die last night
when i refused
to give him even an hour
to live?