The Broken Subconscious

The Broken Subconscious

Dreams I can’t control, outcomes I don’t recall,

My broken subconscious staggers

Like a gunfighter who drew late,

Blood spurting from bullet holes

I didn’t know existed

While a stranger asks for directions.

My glazed look must not have been reassuring–

He’s not going the way I suggested,

If, indeed, this ever happened.

Published by 67steffen

My labels: grandfather, father, veteran, writer, poet, photographer and dreamer in pursuit of the meaning of life. Getting close, although I'm running out of time--probably why I'm so close.

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