'could i, a slip between cracks
would i find to the narrows'
'go sleeping on those hills,'
she suggested, offered, obliged
the moorlands her finger drew
'lichened stone to rest a head;
a blanket of peat to cover you
and heather to tincture your sleep'
i did as bid, grew antlers thorned
as i slumber a top that tor
i fell betwixt place and moor
having given self to evermore
Tag: the dreaming
evermore
call in Storm
feral you, on petite, lithe and narrow
dancing on the edge of betweens
with stolen kisses on slender promise
while others argue, deaf to your muse
bound within the must and dust of
parchment giants lining every room
a wink, a smile, and a theft once more
then,
we raise twin hands, call in StormOnly Just
There was a dreaming of that narrow living room, and my place directing from the far corner: move stage right, turn down bass, less delay, crouch as if in pain, sing it again…
You thought some suggestions were madness, but weren’t we all actors in the theatre of the absurd? That’s okay, I would find myself saying again, I pushed too hard and I understand that you cannot see what the madman sees.
Ignore them when they said that bass can’t sing, can’t chord, just play that thing. And so he did, like he was wont to anyway. I was both superfluous and absolutely necessarily all the same.
What use was my lingering? Affection, I suppose. Maybe a little spite as well.
Just like that faded dream.
Along came a summons. Paired with a wonder: Was it only just a dream?
waters unswept by wind
i fell drunk from the wagon
in thrall of a stained glass you
piercing flint storms calling
winter back into view
you should know, the fall
left me thorned flesh
for years now, i have been
prying septic wood at teeth
of all the beautiful goodbyes,
yours left waters unswept
by windWell, that was unexpected
I’m not quite sure how one goes back to sleep after having a dream of an old classmate throat slash himself in the kitchen, prompting a mad dialing of emergency services you know will arrive too late to do anything for him.
It was a far more graphic and visceral experience than most of my dreams. And I admit, I can have some real doozies. Usually, the gore is suggested. This dream was “in full Technicolor” and detailed.
I’m half-expecting to read something about him in the local news, it was so vivid. The other part is “don’t be absurd, J would never do anything like that.”
Except, my brain reminds me, that’s exactly the kind of thing he’d do if he wanted a ticket out of here.
As I said, I’m not sure how one goes back to sleep after a dream like that.
Morning blather
I was thinking (dangerous stuff, that) about totems last night after waking up (this morning?) to use the toilet and after laying back down and trying to find a comfortable position to grab another ninety minutes of shuteye before dealing with the day.
(more…)ash
i dream in lapis and ebon
pale and on cheeks high
gliding on twixt and tween
she phantoms deserts on nightcactus hand horses
we cactus hand horses
riding desert corridors
on separate painted stone
sixgunning peepshow
between fingers unfold
she rivers the between &
we gallop two feet ford
we cactus hand horses
riding sunset corridorshe fool calls
he fool calls crow
in pale wood, black stone
he red calls ghost
from the south to the north
he road calls spirit
to her medicine ride train
he wing calls kindred
to carry night skies againlet love electra
tied to sky at bailing wire in rust scent & tainted taste everyone wants to go to a heaven all wrapped here in arms & rags but no one will let love electra