Poems by Dennis Janke
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Dreamtime
The smell of victory reeked
in the delivery room.
The crackpot, Rachet Man, followed his dream
at the Institute of Grace
while waiting to be born.
It was a painful delivery,
and he has been in recovery since birth.
“I’ve climbed another wrung in the ladder
where I see my shadow on the moon every night,”
he said from his high and mighty perch. I
instinctively looked out the window
towards the moon,
but realized that his finger pointed
in the opposite direction
at the chip on his
shoulder.
Copyright © 2002 Dennis Janke • All rights reserved.
on “Dreamtime”
