Another White Pill - poem by Andrew Burke

Such
a small pill,
circular, white, with
a central line chiseled in.

Dreams spring from
here, wave after wave in
the streaming syntax
of sleep,

pressed out
and lined in by
factory workers who
dream in a different language
of work hours and breaks –

packaging, dispatch, trucks,
planes and warehouses –
such a long way
until dreams are
unspooled

and translated
here, in the mind that
directs the hand
that writes the letters
that make the words
that boast of dreams.