Faux Mischa Dreams

I once knew this girl
who looked exactly
like Mischa Barton.

Remember that poem,
Theodore Roethke’s
‘I Knew A Woman:’

      I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
      When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them

The woman I knew
who looked like Mischa
was like that woman
only when she sneezed
it was like chirping.

God, I miss dreaming
of that faux Mischa.
My dreams recently
have been all slapstick.

I’ve been writing stuff.
That counts. However
good dreams are better
than getting work done.
Good dreams—even dreams
without foundation—
can lead to work, too.
“The Green Sweater” was       [pt. 1 and pt. 2 and pt. 3]
written for the girl
who looked like Mischa
and the faux Mischa
and I never talked
except in passing.

I am not afraid
of bad dreams. Bad dreams
are all in my head.
I can throw pies there,
get things back on track
and return to dreams
that aren’t slapstick.

Remember that song
by Paul McCartney,
‘Too Many People:’

      Too many people preaching practices
      Don’t let them tell you what you want to be
      Too many people holding back this is
      Crazy and baby it’s not like me




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Today’s post is a sequel of sorts to Lost Gloves