A MAGICIAN
My mouth is an open, empty mailbox.
The flag is broken.
A prisoner, with a letter
between his lips.
I am plugged in by the pillow on my neck
and I do my living work. The brain puffs:
the body operates.
My last dream becomes a pear balloon,
overinflated. It pops with a jump of fear.
I wish simply to recover: the dream eats me.
I push memory towards my inward sails.
A brave phantom breathing into the sheet.
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