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Home arrow Fiction & Poetry arrow Bedtime Stories In R.E.M State - a Poem
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Bedtime Stories In R.E.M State - a Poem PDF Print E-mail

By Kaitlyn Karol

I threw a stone in a river

saw Elvis on an elevator,

he was wearing those famous sunglasses atop his head

white leather, chic jacket and the king throne air he had

but I couldn’t talk to him – I had to run an errand for my friend

and she was talking funny about how she was sorry

that we had missed him,

but oh well –

maybe on the other side

we someday will…


I tossed a coin in a fountain

and wished upon its shiny face

but the sky opened up rain

and drowned out the wish, with none to replace

damn! what the #%*$ kind of luck is this anyway??

I must be dreaming in a stupid stupor, stoner’s language,

murmurs and moans in a mind-seized ice-cream freeze,

frankly freaky coma sleep –

freaked and frantic words and signs,

trying to rhyme yet getting stuck on the wrong mime!

and trying to stay asleep so I can rest deep -

but an alarm ring sounds off with a shrill beep! 

and there is no more dreaming in REM state,

no more time left to hesitate,

to sort out all the figures and figments

of this weird hallucination.

Waking and walking through the morning's

boring fascination

I see them all again –

the glaring images of distorted mirrors

with blown minds as well as blown balloons

burnt lace doylies on fine crystal china

dancing, soft-furry cuddly bears 

and masculine mice on mescaline 

hovering in highchairs,

and then prancing off to the sewer’s muddy midnight stream,

making me wonder, was this real or just a silly dream?

Smoked ham at the end of a roach I smoked twelve years ago...

perfect blend of spice and sweet,

smoking the greatest grass, but not grass-fed meat!

was I high in my astral travels and nebulous strife?

Or is the ceiling caving in on me from my kitchen, 

where I live most of my real life?


Little sidewalk worms protruding from an apple

seeking to rectify past sins

crawling into my bed, my hair, and onto my skin,

twisting my strands and seams into thoughts of redemption

closing in on my day dreams' suspension,

sweet temptation, a succulent kiss of passion

from wince I recall or who with, cannot say I do,

from where it all was born, of lie or of truth?

But hey, whatever happened to Elvis?

h yeah, missed him at that quaint little café

he was sitting there smiling as if he had never died,

eating a peanut butter and banana sandwich

and I laughed until I cried,

then pulled up a chair to talk to him

but he disappeared into the midst of a foggy afternoon

somewhere down a cobblestone street in London or maybe it was

some old business street in New Orleans

where the vampires gather to eat rats

and the barflies, refried beans...?


God only knows

where all those stones and coins go,

who could tell

when you throw them down

the rickety steps

of a subconscious stairwell!

Maybe they may

reappear in another twilight

or midnight zone…

for a while now, I’ll just be alone

waiting for the next screen saver to flash in my landscape

of the night’s most bizarre and baked

bedtime stories…

or maybe what I need to learn is that

hanging out in the kitchen too late

will induce these vivid visions 

of such a strange and spacey state!



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