i really don't know what to say about this piece |
dark flags hang limp in the late afternoon; bare trees filgree the golden cries from beneath the western horizon; asleep, beneath the willow, i am dreaming of stone castles and love's regret; bitter sweet resignation, no, i mean, deep acceptance makes my mouth cluck, in sleep, just like one spoonful of vanilla ice cream on a still august night. tarot cards lecture patience's ultimate justice; the hexagrams wait for fruit to ripen; while my impetuous, demanding gratification junkie-child begins a moan ing campaign of sniveling-constant sniping, a griping grater, replete with endless leaping plans of action, designed to "get what we really want." white cloud islands skim across a shocking blue sky, with the darkness seeping up projecting highlight films of possible idyllic eventualities; with only occassional dim, dark, surreal vignettes (drenched in the dread of perpetual betrayal and limitless proof of my naive inclination to believe the sound) of the human voice psychiatrists on Oprah describe the "illness of those poor souls who need so badly to believe" that life's (apparantly) random potshots secretly portray the inscrutable logic of coincidence, verifying evidence of the Actual Hand of some omnicient Father, keeping track and balancing all accounts. dreaming, on a cot, on the porch of some odd, Maine cabin in the snowy woods of february, minute clips of early familiy history appear innane enough, from here now, although the endings all seem to tend to shift to scenes of high drama, and feats of fearless plunging right through impossibly small hatches in the floor. oh; that other life, of dreams, seems so much ealer to the touch; coming dusted with particles crackling, covered with sacred packs of energy, capable of penetrating deep beneath even the everyday armor that protects (us from) or denies (us) the one true source of power and the capability of changing ourselves oh! this odd fucking planet (of sleep), where gods walk unaware of the lightning deep, deep in their pockets; and wake each day in a room of trance (beyond time, or logic), and give their nights to an aimless wandering through wasted worlds; when all they really need to do, is wake-up Twice and seize their ability to dream for real. |