By Owen Lucas

Josef erzählt seine Träume, 1910

In chequered rose and grey,
He is a young harlequin. A night
Shirt as a child would wear.
He closes his eyes, and his heart,

Swallowing his saliva with
A birdlike motion, seeming still
As if he waited for the execution
Of some action over him

That might draw the stars closer,
Or pass him further from himself
Into their meaningless distance.
He is surrounded by his brothers :

Their faces light strangely at his
Words. Yellowed Zähne, cavern
Mouths, lips of withered blossom.
They feed silently upon his dream.


Owen Lucas is a British poet living in Stamford, CT. He grew up in rural Cambridgeshire, and began writing poetry while studying at the University of London. He was previously featured in Petrichor MachineThe MacGuffinPsychic MeatloafLines & StarsThird WednesdayYou Stumble Into a Room Full of Poets and Clinic

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