By Martin Bemberg
And so it begins, this end,
Because a heart entitled cannot, will not mend.
Because a lover is not a friend
And I am a poet asking, searching for a pen.
I dream a lot
And dream of carried cots
In order to forget them and when strong
To leave them, so that I might when longing
Remember and deceive them,
To sleep in them again.
But a lover is not a friend,
And though such maxims make flee
Sense and syntax from,
Leave longing bleak and free and then some
And then some more, I dream a lot -
I dream of up and down and
Mostly dream of carried cots.
I've been up, I've been down.
I've dreamed her in a wedding gown,
Perhaps too heavy or proud to carry up
A waiting staircase, to use the favor a carried cot
Before the knot is tied would not refuse.
But a lover is not a friend.
Because a heart entitled will not mend
And I am not a lover -
I am a poet who is always looking for a pen.
I dream a lot.
I dream the most of carried cots.
