The Garbage Poetry Patch

With withering pretext of context

I set my words to paper

Roll them tightly

Place them in a bottle

And toss them in the ocean

To join the garbage

Floating in the Pacific garbage patch,

But something weird must have happened

And my words were returned on the tide

Because one day out in the garden

Playing with his toys in the dirt

My son was repeating slogans

Of words he couldn’t have heard.


I woke up remembering this poem I had written in my dreams last night. I tried to write it down before I forgot it. I remembered the first few lines word for word. The lines after that, I had to recreate from a general impression because I had begun to forget. And by the time I got to the final lines the only thing I could remember is that my son was in the poem in some way. So I had to make those lines up without any help from my dreams.


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