Poem by Jon Alston

 

The Modern Sleep

 

We eventually stopped dreaming.
No unconsciousness for dreams to
grow, to assemble night escapes: a
dark where day has no domain. No
place for the mind to unwind, dump
all the daily stimuli. But we don’t
notice. We see more hours of the
day: to drink, to smoke, to get high,
to gorge, to sleep around, to sit and
do nothing for days that no longer
end.

 

   We stopped doing regular activities, unable to store our lascivious memories.
We stopped advancing careers, improving lives, creating art, writing books
(reading books), talking to others, watching TV, going outside.                        

 

Nature recovered. Global warming
eliminated by our inactivity. We sit
on couches and chairs and floors   
and beds, stare at walls,                  

 
 
 

until we die.

 

Jon Alston has an MA in Creative Writing. Good for him. He even got accepted in Lancaster University’s PhD program. Hot dog. He writes things from time to time, and sometimes people publish them. Good for him. On occasion, he photographs things (or people), and maybe writes about them; sometimes there is money exchanged for his services. Good for him. He is married with two children of both genders. Way to reproduce. He is the Executive Editor and founder of From Sac, a literary journal for Northern California. How about that? He recently returned to warm California after teaching English at Brigham Young University, Idaho among the frozen potato fields and Mormons. Good for you, Jon. Good for you.

 

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