JOE TURNER



I am in the lobby of my mind.

Alone except for bits and pieces of other selves

that skulk and lurk half conscious in the dusty shadows.

I find the directory and run my finger down the d’s. 

I am looking for dreams.

I am looking for dreams.

I am looking for dreams.

In time, my finger grows weary and I give up.

The list stretches endlessly.

I am still in the dabbles and dawdles with  

Daring and daffodils no where in sight!

Aimlessly, I wonder down the convoluted corridors.

There are so many rooms,

more than I can ever see or know.

Bright yellow happy sun bathed rooms,

and some pale and bleak.

While other rooms in the cramped folds

on the edges of my mind have doors

held locked with rusting chains and

seized up locks that are never opened.

I do not know what lies behind

these massive ancient 

doors of wormy wood and rusting iron,

but I fear them. 

I walk wide and hurry past.

Perhaps my dreams lie farther on.