Hobos REM #10 Dream by Sy Roth

Lennon’s wish,
bagged in a green-briar patch
facepalm of giggling vagabonds
rattling surroundings with their tinny songs
lost in a fitful dream—

They wrap themselves in downy comforters
against a brumal night
choking off the light
feeling gusty,
somnambulist’s air roaming a frigid bedroom

They dream of longing–
dreams preserved in bindle stiffs
crafted in vagrant ditties
that turn a dream blanket to four
exiting their toasted bodies
crumpled in C’s in alleyways
A Ringo jingoistically whirling beneath a yellow ocean
flinging drumrolls to the edge of darkness
mounded beneath a hill of downy feathers.

It burns off the odors of humanity,
burns off the verdigris patina of corruption
so that its silent visitors enter gently dream #10
canceling the others’ screams,

Dah, di dah, di di dadda dreams
plucked down, down, down up down
until pearlescent walls vibrate
to the lost rhythms of their reveries.

Their heads and eyes and feet and hands
join the cadences in coital harmony
swaying to the dream’s signature song.

They dance,
merely signatories to shattered contracts.
Paul’s lonely guitar wails.

George screams no
to irrevocability
to temporality
to inevitable transformation–
of his breath lost in gusts
drowned in his own last gasps.

Lennon pirouettes,
a solo dance
a perambulatory, graceful,
shoeless walk
a round of lonely circles
of let it be reveries.

But reveries fall on deafened ears
those who won’t hear
#10 rhythmic flats and sharps on the edge of an abyss,
replaced by two-step gamboling along
with their starving, boogying feet.

©2019 Sy Roth


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