Poem-A-Day: Day 592

Dreaming Somewhere Else

counterpunch
and there’s nothing left
but the scattered remains
and a few smatterings of wood
and cheap thrills;
the thirst of other things
and the regret of nothing more.

it’s addition
and the forgotten subtraction
of things not as unfortunate
as the other wasted dreams
that people soon forget about
in the waning moments
of inspiration.

but it’s gone,
whatever inspiration was had
and the leftover filth
is an overwhelming masterpiece
left to build on it’s own devices
and replicate into infinity,
or what’s left.