No map traces the street
Where those two sleepers are.
We have lost track of it.
They lie as if under water
In a blue, unchanging light,
The French window ajar
Curtained with yellow lace.
Through the narrow crack
Odors of wet earth rise.
The snail leaves a silver track;
Dark thickets hedge the house.
We take a backward look.
Among petals pale as death
And leaves steadfast in shape
They sleep on, mouth to mouth.
A white mist is going up.
The small green nostrils breathe,
And they turn in their sleep.
Ousted from that warm bed
We are a dream they dream.
Their eyelids keep up the shade.
No harm can come to them.
We cast our skins and slide
Into another time.
I will use this poem in my performance and say the highlighted lines in my movement. This related to the mental health issue I have chosen as it talks about a dream world inside their heads. I interpreted the poem as the character believing in a perfect dream world which juxtaposed his harsh reality. The voices in his head are guiding him to a perfect world which he cannot get to. I will physically reach out to the world but never get to it. This makes my character angry as he feels like he is being mistreated and mocked.
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