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In dreams,
God gives me all his tools and brushes-
though just for a couple of hours.
On a court, an invisible hand stretches my legs
as if they were made of rubber.
So much, in fact, that I can rightly say
“Back to the gym”
and not have laughter come back to my face.

In the rest of the world, perhaps in an old café,
lies a hardbound cover of
“Malkovich.”
While in the back room,
Grisham has been thrown carelessly
into unmarked storage boxes.

But it’s not always about being the biggest,
or the richest.
At night, I would shrink my legs back again.
Sara, after all,
never did care much for ladders.
In the living room, another copy of
“Malkovich”
sits on our coffee table.
Though it brought in more money
than we could spend in five lifetimes,
there are no china platters in the dining room, and
there are no vacant rooms in the house.

Although later, after a carefully planned coax
onto duvets and soft sheets,
perhaps we might need those extra rooms
after all.


------
Someday, I'll write a story about dodgeball and they'll make it into a movie.


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Comments

The following comments are for "Aspiration"
by Saratin

intrigued
hey saratin,

not quite sure what you're trying to say in this poem, but i did like it. appreciative of your imagery, and (thank you) proper use of commas. i'd like to know what you're talking about in the poem so i could follow some sense of a story. that's a big gap for me. maybe i'm just tired and computered out...

( Posted by: ark [Member] On: February 18, 2004 )

It's about my dreams
Sorry, I thought this would be self-explanatory (not a personal attack, just sayin').

It's about my dreams, and the poem consists of:

a) Dreaming about total ownage on a gymnasium court.

b) Publishing a bestselling book

c) Having a wife and kids

There is nothing spectacular or extraordinary about these aspirations, they're just there. Look closer.

( Posted by: Saratin [Member] On: February 19, 2004 )





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