The 20mg Citalopram Dream Sestina

They’re shameful enough, but it’s the dreams

That really get to me. That time I shot

Franz Ferdinand played as children’s TV, or the night

I lived in an asylum with water pools to wade through

To open any door. It’s their almost order,

Their reality, that leaves me feeling so uncertain.

As if I needed more reasons to feel uncertain,

When days can feel duller than the dreams

And repetition seems to be the only order

But it’s never precise. My nerves are so often shot

That I’m not sure any day is got through

Normally. I sleep and dream at different times each night.

It’s not always, but they will come again, some night

And that’s yet another element which is uncertain,

It feels like I’m always sizing up, wading through

The strange, surreal, real, and different dreams.

And once again, it seems my mind is shot

Through with a changing, changeless order

Where the same things shift and stand in order

And everything lacks art, but feels, in the night,

Totally logical. I guess I now have a shot

At knowing all madness, the certain and uncertain

In my lucidity and my unlucid dreams,

The SSRIs having effects through and through.

But it isn’t really the dreams, but that through

Them I can see my mind isn’t mine, that order

Imposes itself from matter, chemicals make dreams.

So, each time I think I think, each night

Renders that belief only more uncertain.

Does control come from without, from stimuli shot

Across my synapses and neurons, my thoughts a snap-shot

Of the things that influenced them through

Day and night, repetitive not creative, uncertain

Only as the days were? They are in some unreadable order,

And I’m a failure, with my faulty mind still shown, each night,

Played out in the inscrutable, clearly-ordered dreams.

And now, instead of coming back to order, still my thoughts are shown in dreams

Carrying on through-out the night, making it abundantly clear my hopes seem shot.

And that elements will combine night after night in alchemist labs, consciousness alone uncertain.

By Cameron Marnoch