Apparitions

I make do with just the fragments.
Especially I fall to pieces of  sleep
From wholes of daily wakefulness .

I handle them all , as apparitions
Not as wholes but pieces of them
In a daily sleep, going after truth.

Poetry goes at truth in piecemeal
As our attention spans are small
For the wholes of truth, in prose.

I deal with my fragments of truth.
Apparitions are sleep’s fragments.
Lucky they never come in wholes.

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