I bumped my head upon a dream and poems fell right out
The words of dust did scream and with thirst began to shout
With no meter to drink, the outer rhyme began to peel
and from word`s dry ink time made a meal
Eating letters one by one, with the sauce of emotion
allegory served on a bun dipped in a free verse or rhymed potion
Bones of metaphor on the plate, minutes spat out sprouting seeds
and from garbage it did create a garden full of poetic weeds