the waking dreams of writing
a found poem

i am opposed to homework,
anything but pen.
i hate school.
i'm feeling stuck.
this is a lose-lose situation.

i am opposed to
weaknesses and failings
unearthed from the depths of my basement.
the worst part is
i know everything
that i can remember vividly.

and we're off.
on the streets of a foreign city,
the sun shines on my bare feet.
friends line up on the sidewalks
to make an impression.
and in steps the man of my dreams.

extreme disinterest,
perusing the aisles,
ripping randomly across the sky,
becomes an ear of corn,
as it will do in dreams.

the writing was wrong.

©hack 1999