World Aborted

Dream Poem:

1.  Notes Folded over gently
Like eggs on Sunday morning
And floated through my bedroom window.
They reminded me of the things
That I am used to and the things
I have not yet become used to.
They remind me of the whir and whine
Of the tubes that sucked you from my womb
As I watched you filling the plastic baggy
That the nurse kept swinging from a small hook.

The notes struck me like the heel of my shoe
Strikes the pavement below and then
Gently rubbed the sore red mark
Left on my skin.
The vicious cycle continues to continue.
My skin is army green.
I use it to hide, but everyone that finds me here
With my face buried in my hands, asks me if I am ill.
"You look sick," they say,
"Green around the gills…a bit under the weather."
"I hope that I don't catch what you have."
They should know they don't have to worry.
I am not as contagious as the cliché.

Sometimes when I am all alone in a dark room
I feel you inside my head screaming.
You ask me why and how.
What can I do to explain?
I wanted you later not now,
But I needed you now and not later.
I could feel you with every beat
Every rest, every forte, every piano.

Dr. Hippo kept asking me if I was okay.
I could only laugh.  He asked if I was in school.
I could only laugh.
The nurse who was leaving with the hooked bag
Looked like she had speared you from the sea.
She was taking you off to cook you over a fire for her supper.
Then she was going to hike in the mountains
And bathe in the river under the moonlight.
I hoped that she would take me with her.
Take me away from this sterile white room.


2.  I thought to finish this poem,
But thought it would be against
One's better judgment.
I thought to finish a lot of other things
That are also still left undone.
They are also sitting in Cobweb Corner.
Together.  Waiting… passing by the time.


3.  I dreamt that you were all there.
Bronzed and covered with the fine powder of ground diamonds.
The children were planted in the earth.
Their arms beckoned me in grand swaying motion
As their stems bent in the wind.
The women sang in a key slightly above a whisper
As a warning not to continue any closer.
The men's expressions remained callous and indifferent
Leaving me with no indication of events to come.

I knew that the world was sand-packed.
It was my duty to satiate the jar of right.
My commitment was to the flowers.  They needed us most.
They needed the women to stop whispering and help them understand.
They needed the men to grow wild with passion, to become the causist.
They needed to know that their futures would not be destroyed
By the barbaric simplicity of dollars and bombs and religions
And the barbaric simplicity of the men who control these.


4.  I dreamt that they fell from the sky,
Over and over again like streamers and balloons at a dance.
Huge birds whose wings were covered in flaming lava
Twirling and whirling around me for miles,
I ran to miss their fatal landing.
I ran with them and I ran from myself.
I ran from the past and the present
And most of all I ran from opposites and the idea of running.
When it was finally safe to stop and rest
I sat beside a Magnolia tree and wept for the earth.
It was gray and charred the way the moon looked
In old science-fiction movies.
Bronzed and covered with the fine powder of ground diamonds.