IN HIS FINAL DREAM
The stronger evidence of a cloud which carried him
into the paper-strewn lot of a magnified dream
no longer his own, no longer here, no longer alive,
as it was when it used to entrap him. As it was,
it was no longer a cloud that carried him.
He, on a string of his dream, carried it,
and no longer to a place of exact destination
where purpose bloomed darkly, its petals lips
to feed the desire of morning air, the final air
in the final dream, where he himself was the cloud.
Or, he was what he was. The desireless shadow,
proudly calm, proudly insouciant
at desire's death. He dropped it off like a coat,
this second skin, this disease, this signifier
of the serene and the feverish,
the true and the false--the prevailing guile.
His confusion resolved and his purpose realized:
he in the sky, he sans his cloud, he sans his human shell.
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