lynx in the desert
Zeus, I’m epically soporific today—Did you ravage me last night in my sleep?
No, that was Death (and what is not Death but rather simultaneity of spirit in wakescape and dreamscape).
Craggy rock furnace over which Sun climbs casts a spell.
A dead aunt lives always with her tan, short bob, and rasp, no matter the sudden stroke that de-materialized her less than a year ago.
In my dreams, you say? In my dreams, mofo.
And by that I mean in real. Potent dream, out of which tears wet my eyelashes in the dark bedroom, stretches into oxygen pockets. I am breathing in and out.
In your dreams? Remember the sex dream you had about your English professor and blushed when he passed you in the hall the next day? Dream sticks. Dream, unbreaking stream, links itself to waking. Lovers' beach-hands swinging over sand.
Once you’ve gone lysergic you can’t go back. You can’t be a virgin again. Nothing is not hallucinated. Nothing is hallucinated.
She is still alive, and both of her dogs. I dreamed them back in.
By dream death hangs in memory, undeathing itself. It’s wet. It lashes in the night into day.
No, that was Death (and what is not Death but rather simultaneity of spirit in wakescape and dreamscape).
Craggy rock furnace over which Sun climbs casts a spell.
A dead aunt lives always with her tan, short bob, and rasp, no matter the sudden stroke that de-materialized her less than a year ago.
In my dreams, you say? In my dreams, mofo.
And by that I mean in real. Potent dream, out of which tears wet my eyelashes in the dark bedroom, stretches into oxygen pockets. I am breathing in and out.
In your dreams? Remember the sex dream you had about your English professor and blushed when he passed you in the hall the next day? Dream sticks. Dream, unbreaking stream, links itself to waking. Lovers' beach-hands swinging over sand.
Once you’ve gone lysergic you can’t go back. You can’t be a virgin again. Nothing is not hallucinated. Nothing is hallucinated.
She is still alive, and both of her dogs. I dreamed them back in.
By dream death hangs in memory, undeathing itself. It’s wet. It lashes in the night into day.
2 Comments:
i have never been ravaged by zeus before. if i did, maybe i could visualize better. you have such a vivid way of recalling things.
i'm not sure where this one came from. reading it now, it's like someone else wrote it. i must have been damn tired.
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