Why Would I Fantasise?
I am not a philosopher.
You came to me in a dream.
Already, I digress.
Subject + verb + object (direct).
You and your syntax.
You are a verb that requires many objects.

I . Want. To. Break. That.

 

Last night, I dreamt about you.
Not directly, mind.
You more occurred.
I used the essay template here, but as you can see, I have already veered

off course.

 

Shall I tell you how we met?

Somewhere in the South-West.
Desert-tongued.
Walking in opposite directions. Bound to

cross.

Your face I hadn’t seen /
But I knew it like a dream /

“Tell me about the dream.”
“Secret.”
“Whisper the secret.”

 

Even though you have never heard me whisper – and as we are never likely to meet you are never likely to hear me whisper – I can only hypothesise that if you were to hear me whisper it might just knock you out. (Know that I call you nightly across the Pacific nightly.)

Vegetables microwaved in a bag.

As I have inferred on several occasions (to which your repeated omission of a response did at least not oppose) we are, by nature, similar souls.

Do you believe in souls?
Water signs?
Elements?

Your eyes were green /
Greener than I’d seen /

You exist in the real world. Very much so.
But you also exist here,
don’t you?
I have a good friend.
When we have talk on the subject of fantasy,
I am quick to declare that
I don’t have fantasies.
I do not fantasise.
Why would I fantasise?

 

Porn
Screen,
ceiling,
floor,
screen,
some more.

 

Hovered
The giant plastic pineapple
on the roundabout read:
WELCOME TO ROCKHAMPTON.

You circled slowly,
your foot,
steady, on the accelerator.

Wooden bungalows
hovered
on stilts.

Night fell.

You parked up,
turned off the engine.

 

The Lighter
You left your lighter on the windowsill.
A red Exis OL.
The dot of the i is not a dot
but a flame.
The fluid on either side
is less than half full.
I know you only left it there
because you forgot to take it with you,
not that you intended to
leave something behind
that might come in handy in the kitchen,
or that you could use
next time around.

 

 

Sam Lou Talbot is a singer-songwriter, improviser, poet, writer, visual artist, and academic, whose work tends to confront dream, desire and resistance. She holds an MLitt in Creative Writing from Glasgow University, and lectures in CW / Arts Writing at UCA. Of no fixed abode, Sam finds herself washed-up in St Leonards-on-Sea, working on her debut EP, ‘Mermaid Street’, to be released, May 2018.

Photo: Self-portrait, Salem, Massachusett by Sam Lou Talbot

 

 

 

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