Transcendence | Olena Jennings | The Piltdown Review



No difference between night and day

when during sleep the world changes.

You repeatedly pull yourself out

and the crowd pushes you.

Your dreams are suddenly tangible,

touch the cry that emerges

from her mouth. Sharp

broken glass

bottle you throw. You meet

a boy who has your late grandfather’s

name and you think this must

say something about his fate.

You see the blinding light. It shines

from beneath a cobblestone. When reaching

for it, you pick the stone up. Your muscles

aren’t used to the arc as a man

in uniform approaches you. Your body

ready for the throw.  



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