Posts Tagged ‘ Dreams ’

etch each sketch upon the shifting sands


The Etch A Sketch Animator

The Etch A Sketch Animator (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

dreams
and
a sequence relived daily

which are dreams?
which is real?

perhaps the Universe is decidedly
D-I-S-C-O-N-T-I-G-U-O-U-S

contiguity
continuity
an apprehension of a Finite —

Damn it!
something
a Somethingness
persists

throughout my fluid runs
in and out of conscious thought

some call it Essence

— not remembering a Time when
You were not —

Beginningless

early Memories mixed with the
Infant’s Mute Metaphysics

and i have grown wise
i leave no more teeth under my pillow —

i have blocked out the Meadow in my mind
and replaced it with an Architecture
representing my impressions of it

and you read these words
so

Who are you?

Have you lost your way as I have?

I cannot lead you back
we must etch each sketch upon the shifting sands
of our Prejudices

 

SoundCloud reading:  <click here>

purposeless


Blissful

Blissful (Photo credit: Emre Ergin)

 

sometimes i feel
like i don’t care
about the story
or dream i’m in

or any of the people
who populate
the MultiPlex of
my interactions with Other Beings…

if such Creatures exist

if it weren’t for the intermittent Echo
of unfamiliar voices in my head or on the net

i’d swear that i was
by my lonesome

and then

the question arises

if I truly AM Alone?

who will be my playmates
and tell me stories
I never would have dreamed of
or imagined?

who would cut me off in traffic to remind me
to be on Guard
for my Serenity?

purposeless,
that’s what i’d BE

maybe
Blissful

but Purposeless nonetheless

 

maybe I’ll just tire of it All


An image from the Electric Sheep.

An image from the Electric Sheep. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

maybe
I’ll go
to Bed
to Sleep
to Hell
and back

maybe
I’ll dream
of Electric Sheep
or eating turds in Hell
for people I have wronged
maybe
I’ll dream
of movie houses on another planet
like I once did

maybe
I’ll end it All
You
not me, I have no end
I am a Recurrence and have no Choice in the Matter
but you, youze
are projections of the One
that I once was

and maybe, I’ll just tire of it All

 

when it was more than dust


Corpuscles of dust

Corpuscles of dust (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

reach for it
like your life
depends on it
because
it does

well
maybe not your life

you can live
like a sluggard
and still get by

you can congregate
around screens
like little moths
and let the world
pass away

if dust thou art
i suppose
it doesn’t matter

BUT DAMN IT!

i know
the dust can dance
and dream
and love
and remember
moments

when it was more than dust

 

only fragments


Pippi Rag Doll, close up

Pippi Rag Doll, close up (Photo credit: Katy Kristin)

A vision, once, on a small planet near a shining star,
expectation of supernovae in the air, a crowd, but
not crowded, as far as the planet curves, and the coolest
girl in the Universe with a hula hoop, gyrating her
hips next to me.  Red hair and freckles and singing a
Siren’s Song, a Pippi Longstocking, perhaps Pippi herself,
The throng turns toward the sun and then the Star bursts
and the Light washes over all of Us.

And We are back on this small planet.  Pippi hulas the hoop
again and the Star bursts and the Light washes over all of
Us again.

And a third time, We are back.  Pippi is standing next
to me and smiling and holding onto her hula hoop and
hulas once again and the Star bursts one last time, the
Light washes over only Me…

And I trail off into fragments, only fragments.

SoundCloud reading:  <click here>

perhaps


Oil Tanker Bertina

Oil Tanker Bertina (Photo credit: kenjonbro)

 

I dreamt
only
(perhaps it wasn’t a dream)

wasn’t a dream at all
walking

across wasteland
looking down
eyes looking down

nothing forward
nothing passed

and there
in the middle of orange scrub
bumped into an oil tanker

or perhaps
i was a garden slug
encountering my house

perhaps

 

turn of the Screwed


Screw Holder: Second attempt

Screw Holder: Second attempt (Photo credit: wizard23)

The turn of the Screwed
chewed and distillated
spent on dime bag dreams
and empty beer cans

to everything
there is a season
but not in my back yard

not having it

tell the neighbors
over fence posts
Oh! We don’t do that any more

it’s texts and tweets
and updates floated on a place
called CyberSpace

just LOOK!

at everyone ignoring everyone
looking so important
just waiting to be discovered

little do they know
little do they know that
every spider ever manufactured
in a Tin Burton Dream
is just as qualified to climb the Golden Ladder

climbing
status

give me MY space
and I will write all over it

and listen for the empty echo of applause\

 

BUY MY NEW BOOK

The Emperor’s New Closet

Mantucky Dreams


carousel_09343

carousel_09343 (Photo credit: original_MikZ)

transitory hallucinations and double indemnity fantasies
permeate the cracked edges of Mantucky Park .
condolences to the padre, they padlocked the confessional
and now he’s on the street harassing passersby

two crackheads stop to hear him absolve a homeless drunk
and ask him if he has any money
he laughs and waves them away

the meters along Main Street run backward fast

the parking Nazi pulls out her ticket pad
in anticipation of red flags popping up like poppies
to the music of the Carousel repeating in the distancethe Greek slings his Tadziki and Falafel near the corner,
his line of customers often three or four deep.
seems like the only thing recognizable as food
beneath the Christmas lights

there used to be trolleys
running the length of Main
but they were all pulled up long ago
a lot of the buildings still stand
they make a feeble attempt at a downtown

just a husk,
the Gazebo in the park is lost in ghost whispers
of yesterday

a panel truck makes a delivery at the Mechanics Bank
like it has every day for the last forty of fifty years
some things don’t change

there used to be two Coney Islands downtown
a paradox that no one seemed to notice in Mantucky growing up
we believed we were immortal
would do anything, try anything for a good time
in Jimmy’s Lounge at 16 and 17
eating and drinking whatever came our way

just husks, now, like downtown
seed all shriveled up and dry and blown across the wind
seeing the promise
(more like the lie that we believed)
in younger eyes

how would they know?
no one talks about it any more
let them keep their dreams
while they last

to dream again
and not soak our livers
in rivers of whiskey and drugs

to breathe again
like taking the a breath in cold December

if only…

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