in a surprisingly unremarkable notebook.
Being a substantial dreamer, he prefers
a spiral-bound A4 jotter, and has chewed
the end off of every biro he’s ever owned.
Tapping into a darkness deep within himself,
he dreams of the elements, of ancient dust,
the fundamental chemistry of the Universe.
He is once again Kal-El, but fully grown now,
walking the streets of Krypton before
the cataclysm that his eyes never saw
but his subconscious keeps remembering.
Sometimes there is peace, sometimes
a weakness so human it terrifies him.
He dreams of Lois and wakes abruptly,
alone in a dampened rage of longing.
On every fresh page he records those same
accusing lines, details the relentless weight
– of himself, of time, of a puzzling planet
always needing to be saved from itself;
one whose saviour dreams of emerging from
a phone booth in downtown Metropolis,
not entirely sure he’s wearing underpants.
Robert Ford’s poetry has appeared in print and online publications in the UK, US and elsewhere, including Under the Radar, Brittle Star, Dime Show Review, The Interpreter’s House and San Pedro River Review. More of his work can be found at https://wezzlehead.wordpress.com/
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