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Poem: While You Were Sleeping 

While you were sleeping,
I called up an ex-lover and got back
on good terms. I then redialed and told
her I slept with her sister.

While you were sleeping,
I told Sylvia Plath to kill
herself.  She did.

While you were sleeping,
I watched four suedeheads surrender to
a ghostly cavalcade, letting their mannequin-
esque bodies drop like bags of skin.

While you were sleeping,
I shot H with Jesus and told him I
didn’t care for his father. I wondered
even if He believed in Himself.

While you were sleeping,
I got drunk with ol’ Buk
and told him he was just a shittier copy
of Fante. He called me a cunt and
threw a lazy, drunken punch.

While you were sleeping,
I broke into Nerval’s
apartment and put Thibualt, his pet
lobster, into a serious and peaceful
pot of boiling water. The screams
were delightful. I left Nerval the blue
silk ribbon of a leash on my finished
dinner plate.

While you were sleeping,
I noticed a naked tree performing a
ballet up high on the balding mountain.
The birds joined in and crooned a
Rachmaninoff classic.

While you were sleeping,
I let the opium angels kindly
touch my face and rub their fingers
thru my wild head of hair. I floated—
immaculate.

While you were sleeping,
I met Breton in a Paris
cafe for espresso. We smoked cigarettes.
We talked about blue acrylic cups.
I was Nadja.

While you were sleeping,
I stroked Oscar Wilde’s hard Dandy
cock. Sorry.

Speaking of...

  • A poem by J. M. Toth.

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