1981–1990 | |
Poem:
Alasdair Gray © 2005 | |
of docken, nettle and convolvus does not belong to us: only to me whose nostrils gladly drank the stink of vegetable sweat, whose ears sucked in the sullen whimper of the gnat’s wing, who gladly felt the wet sting of smirr upon the cheek. So do not talk, say no word to me but walk in stillness on a path of moss, a slope of trees upon our right hand side and on our right the cluck & flow of a wide stream. I do not know what you see here. I do not want to know. For if each tries to see those things the other sees our probing eyes will shatter the brittle matter of the other’s dream so each of us will be inside a toneless, tasteless, aimless world of mediocrity. Walk in my dream and I will walk in yours but do not try to share our separate dreams. two dreams can touch, I think, but there’s an end of dreaming if we try and make them blend for this can only be when both of us lie bare and I have felt the ripeness of your flesh. When bodies mix then even dreams can melt. |
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