top of page
Search
  • Anxious Poets Society
    • Jul 15, 2018
    • 1 min read

Untitled


I try to explain my nightmares to her

and psychoanalysis only ever seems to offer closure

where it can’t exist.

She says that she hasn’t dreamt in years

except now she’s on this new drug

and the dreams slowly flushed

back as if she were drowning and stopped.

 

JB is an English poet with a great interest in poetry's ability to express specific mental states. He uses simple language, as well as ambiguity, to explore the fractured relationship of the poet to nature and society.

#nightmares #psychoanalysis #closure #dreams #drug #drowning #poetry

66 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

I. Your skin is wet paste sticking to a hospital wristband Under an empty wide gaze that sees nothing. Though I imagine how pretty you must look With your friends at the park, Lying on a picnic table,

blank paper sheets waiting to be filled on the study table, she picked her pen up every ink burst’s her spell word by word, she started weaving kingdom—her utopia. before her eyes, an ethereal scenery

More powerful than a locomotive, able to leap reality in a single bound, it’s a nuclear bomb, it’s a super computer: it’s the age-old strain of virulent addiction. Once in its ravenous and raptor claw

bottom of page