“
We control the content of our dreams.
— Thom Gunn
writer, poet
🔗 Read on Wikipedia1929 – 2004
We control the content of our dreams.
These seem like bristles, and the hide is tough.No claw or web here: each foot ends in hoof.
Direct me gods, whose changes are all holy,To where it flickers deep in grass, the moly.
Thus for each blunt-faced ignorant oneThus concepts linked like chainmail in the mind.
One joins the movement in a valueless world,One moves as well, always toward, toward.
Distorting hackneyed words in hackneyed songsThe impulse to a habit of the time.
My thoughts are crowded with deathby, in effect, my own annihilation.
