THE INTERNATIONAL JOURNAL OF POETRY &
GRAPHICS…since December 2002
Editor-in-Chief:
Amatoritsero Ede
Poetry
RON CERVERO
BOX OF DREAMS Baseball cards, a rubber band, an 1894 Indian head penny, the aroma of cheap tobacco filled the bottom of an old cigar box; my box of dreams where no one else could go.
When I was grown the box became a distant memory, I had forgotten the magic of dreams, cynical adulthood.
In Hollywood I was sure that I was home, only to find a pink slip and a plane ticket.
My depression? Black as coal or blacker, I lived inside this tube of insanity where nothing made sense — I felt like I was dying.
Snorting coke and drinking Buds to take away the pain, growing thin, I lost control of my life once again. Gazing through teary eyes I saw it… my box of dreams.
When I opened it, I found a time capsule: baseball cards a rubber band and that 1894 Indian head penny; the box still wafting old tobacco from 30 years ago filled my nostrils.
My life was not full of hope anymore, just the agony of knowing; how I wished that I could start over… one more feeble attempt at life.
Eventually, I fell asleep clutching my box of hope. I had a dream that it was all a terrible mistake — my war wounds, my drug addiction all passed away in my unconscious mind.
When I awoke I felt a moment of peace… of hope. Through blood shot eyes I looked around the room, stacks of empty beer bottles, an ashtray full of death , the residue of cocaine and a dirty rolled up dollar bill, still on my mothers’ antique mirror;
And I knew that I was back — back in the pit of hell.
