On Going to Sleep
The bottle of my daily dreams
Lies empty of its waking themes:
No more dreams of love and beauty;
No more dreams of civic duty;
No more dreams of gaudy wealth;
No more dreams of books on shelf;
I drank the last dream in despair,
My body broke beyond repair.
Now I sit and watch t.v.
The world it simply love not me;
I should have been a guru swami,
Flower decked in South Miami,
Smiling at some doting youth,
Pretending that I knew some truth
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