David R. “Poppa” Alexander


Dreaming, dreaming.
Why must one dream?
Screaming, screaming.
Part of the life one is to live.
Sweating, sweating:
Another night of ghost of the past.
Cursing, cursing:
Left in the half-life of a haunting dream.

Awaken, not really. But who would know?
Just under the cloak of slumber, a fitful tightening of the chest.
Never again! Never again! No more dreams, not one more night.
A knife cuts only once and the body dies.

A pill – a dozen pills. Booze – why not booze?
Ah wait. Not just either, but both. Twice as quick.
Wait on me, wait on me. I’ll be along in no more than time to awaken.
Awaken, awaken. Find the booze and the pills, take them down and rest.

Blood, blood, blood everywhere. Why? No wound to be found.
A scream, what! A scream? From where? Who?
The half-gone face of a frag grenade gone wild.
Wake up, wake up! You are asleep and dreaming again.

Leave me to my end, let me be. Can’t you see?
I’m leaving to join the crazed faces and bodies of the past.
WHAT? WHAT? I’m awake my dear, I’ll be OK now.
You are there as always to awaken me and bring me back.
Maybe tomorrow night I’ll finish this.