Barry Harris

three dreams

the oil of commerce goes on here
in office hallways
a handshake
a brief hello, a nod,
small talk about common things

something sings like a humming motor
its gears lubricated before engagement
tab a is inserted into slot b

in a darkened movie theatre Harold Lloyd
hangs from the hands of a clock
Charlie Chaplin threads his body
through the machine gears of Metropolis
Buster Keaton punches a timeclock
that punches back

in a different dream I sit with you
in our garden
I ask you the names of flowers
we tell each other stories
that come true

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