In the Well

I had a dream once
That I was in a deep, dark well
A hollow creature, subhuman
A body, really
No face

I was everywhere
And nowhere
All at once, in space and not
On ground or in it.

I made sounds, no talk
Grunting, burping
Farting, snorting
Even a queef, for a laugh

I did not wonder how to move
I did not care to raise that head
To look up at the sky - blue, black, grey
I know not in my dream

Like an old clock though
I weathered on
Not that I knew time
Because I was not living a life

Soon the weathered wet bricks
Were my palms
The damp stone
My seat

The curling ends of my hair
Was it hair? More a beast merged with mine
The worms through the cracks
Cousins accompanying the queefs

In the heat was sweat and in the cold, tremors
What did I, whatever I was, know of them?
A curious, painful numbness
My head was merely a heavy accessory

I am now part of the well
And I wish I could tell
How I woke, how I went on
How morning was another life

Irony is a masterful poet
And in this one
She weaves a thread
Known to many, entertained by few

See, I told you this was a dream
It was
At this point I pause my pen
To lean over the rim

I enjoy my work, indeed
As does my touch in the works of others
Rarely do I feel
And this is no exception

It grunts in its space
Master of its own shell
But I am not inquisitive
I like to leave well enough alone

To entertain that this thing
Could dream the truth of my words
What fun! It is absurd
I am, however, aware of one thing

One shared connection, though I shudder
I do not feel, it does not feel
We could be so like each other
Instead, I drop my pen
And my words

Into the well
It does not stir
But I like to think
Some day

It will learn
And it will weep
And I will laugh
And then, the link will be broken