Eo Ipso Tempore

Ben Allee

I used to hold dreams like

Dandelion fluff in front of

My parted lips: blow, blow,

Spread the specks of white

Fuzz out into the land and

Wish with a wish so big that 

It made the wind taste

Like freedom and the world

Explode with oranges and pinks

And deep purples.

"I want to be an artist!"

I'd say, 

"I want to be a weatherman!"

I'd say, 

"I want to be president!"

I'd say. 

I'd blow that little dandelion

Dust, for it was never really mine

For the keeping, or dreams

For the sake of dreaming.

I am older now and the years 

Have compounded on my

Brow. I am heavy with the hauling

Of such dreams and weary

With the hushing of it.

I hold them tightly in my 

Hands with 

Secret gloves and iron

Gaze to all who ask.

"I want to have a steady income,"

I say.

"I want to have a decent apartment,"

I say.

"I want to find someone I sort of like,

And settle down.”


It is only in my darkest velvet
Hours of staring at the ceiling
Do I look and look and trace upon
The shadows there like they’re
Private constellations:
I want to be a writer.
But don’t tell them.
I want to tell stories.
But don’t tell them.
I want to dream again.
And for people not to think me
Full of nothing but dandelion fluff
And far-away things.

I want to dream again.

Spring/Summer, 2020 Issue

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