Abysmal Plane
by John Kucera
It’s just me here and the deadening silence,
At times, is unbearable;
I bear it though, just like blood flowing
On the busy street.
Stars dance on the walls and I feel ocean currents
Swelling beneath the pillow.
One of doorways steps into darkness,
Into an abyssal plane.
How many times do I weep
Under the false ceiling?
Night is like a pill in a tiny cup—swallow and
Go to the land of dreams.
As it never finishes—and when it finishes,
There is nothing left to dream.
At times, is unbearable;
I bear it though, just like blood flowing
On the busy street.
Stars dance on the walls and I feel ocean currents
Swelling beneath the pillow.
One of doorways steps into darkness,
Into an abyssal plane.
How many times do I weep
Under the false ceiling?
Night is like a pill in a tiny cup—swallow and
Go to the land of dreams.
As it never finishes—and when it finishes,
There is nothing left to dream.
John Kucera was educated at Carlow University in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. His work has appeared in New Reader Magazine, The Sandy River Review, Utopia Science Fiction, Slant, Connections Magazine, and Friends Journal. He currently lives in Phoenix, Arizona, where he writes and teaches.